In My Life, I Love You More
by bluelimit
Summary: "It's always been Jim and Pam." What if it was? A story of a lifelong friendship that was always destined for more.
1. Chapter 1

November 1979

"Oooh, excuse me. I can't seem to get used to driving this belly around." The slight (other than the belly) woman apologized to a taller lady with a matching protruding stomach.

The taller woman laughed. "Oh, I know what you mean. This one here is my second and I still feel like I'm in someone else's body."

The slight woman smiled, nodding vigorously. "Yes! Exactly!" She patted her belly. "The little muffin in here is my first, and it's something new everyday."

Her new friend's eyes twinkled. "It's like that when they come out too. When are you due?"

"January 10th. You?"

"January 24th."

They both laughed. The tall woman started in realization.

"Oh, excuse me," she said. "How rude of me." She extended her hand. "Larissa Halpert."

The other woman shook Larissa's hand warmly. "I'm Joan Beesly. Larissa, what an interesting name. It's lovely."

"Thank you," Larissa smiled. "It's from Greek mythology. My great-grandmother was from Mykonos. I've come to like it. As a child though, I always wanted a normal name, like Susan or Nancy or…"

"Joan," Joan smiled. "Yes, I was always terribly normal. I remember trying to make people call me Wendy in first grade."

Larissa laughed. "After Wendy in "Peter Pan.""

"Of course," Joan agreed. "It was my favorite book."

Larissa nodded knowingly. "It was mine too." She lowered her head conspiratorially.

"Still is, actually. My little rascal at home is Peter."

Joan grinned. "Nothing ever quite compares to the childhood favorite, does it? How old is little Peter?"

"He's four," Larissa replied. "He's in an afternoon pre-kindergarten class. I take him in at 12:30 and they keep him until 5. It gives me a chance to go to my doctor, run my errands, come here to"

"Exercise for Pregnant Housewives," Joan filled in, tugging at her magenta leotard.

Larissa chuckled. "Yes, exactly," she replied, looking with part amusement, part disdain, at her own bright turquoise leotard. "Prenatal Aerobics. Who on Earth came up with the idea?"

"Jane Fonda, I'd imagine."

The two women laughed.

"Joan," Larissa said. "I was just about to go and get some decaf tea that I'll be pretending is coffee. I'd love the company."

Joan laughed. "It's funny," she said. "Usually all I drink is tea – especially herbal, but since I've been pregnant, I've had the most terrible cravings for coffee. I've tried to satisfy it with"

"Coffee ice cream!" Larissa interrupted, putting a hand on Joan's arm.

"Yes!" Joan cried excitedly, clutching Larissa's elbow. "Does it ever work for you?"

Larissa shook her head. "Never. I love coffee ice cream, especially with hot fudge, but it's not coffee." She patted her belly. "I'm tempted to let Smelden here go on the bottle right away just so I can get back to the caffeine faster." She shook her head. "I'm shameful, I know."

Joan giggled girlishly. "Smelden?"

Larissa shook her head ruefully. "Not really. That's what Bill – that's my husband – calls the babies while they, uh, ripen."

"So no Smelden Halpert then?" Joan's eyes twinkled.

"No indeed," Larissa shook her head, her own eyes bright. She'd grown up as the second-to-last of four children, the only girl, and now lived with her husband and her own son. It was rare to find such a connection with another woman, and so instantly. "Margaret, for a girl. Meg. And James for a boy. After my husband's parents. They've both passed."

"So sorry," Joan smiled sympathetically, tilting her head slightly in that way that so many do when expressing sympathy.

Larissa acknowledged this with a slight nod. "Thank you," she said, a bit formally. "My father-in-law actually died when Bill was in high school. I never knew him. And Mag went about two years ago." She smiled fondly, remembering. "We got on well enough, her and I, never any contention. We used to have lunch together every week, 'just the girls,' she'd say. But still, you know…"

"Mothers-in-law," Joan smiled knowingly. "Evie, that's mine, Evelyn, we get along too. But I get the feeling that she wants to come over and cook, to make sure I'm feeding Ed, or "my Eddie" as she calls him, well enough. Bless her, though, I could have gotten one of the terrible ones. My friend Nancy tells me her husband's mother barely acknowledges her."

Larissa shook her head in disappointment. "So do you know what you're going to name – what did you call it, the little muffin?"

Joan smiled. "Theodore, for a boy. And Pamela, if she's a girl."

"Pamela," Larissa rolled the word around in her mouth, tasting it. "That's a beautiful name. And Theodore is one I would have considered if I didn't think we should honor Bill's parents. But at least I got my literary reference the first time around."

"Literary reference?" Joan was holding back a smile.

Larissa took note. "Theodore Laurence, of course."

"So that's why your Margaret will be a Meg instead of a Maggie like your husband's mother," Joan nodded knowingly. "Little Women…"

"You too?" Larissa asked. Joan nodded. "So Pamela? Not Josephine or Amy? Or Wendy?"

"My closest childhood friend," Joan answered. "I'm an only child, so Pam was like my sister when we were growing up. She lives in Chicago with her, uh…" she leaned close to Larissa and lowered her voice, "special friend, now."

"Oh my." Larissa was amused.

"Oh, but she's wonderful," Joan smiled. "She's a flautist, a painter, a poet. Not that she makes a cent doing any of those. She teaches literature at Northwestern to pay the bills."

Larissa nodded. "Sounds like quite the woman."

"Oh, she is," Joan agreed. "She'll be Muffin's godmother. Hopefully she'll pass on some of that creativity. I always wished I had it, but sadly, my most artistic talent is flower arranging. I can't even draw a straight line."

"Straight lines, I can do," Larissa said. "I studied architecture in college. But I remember my mother enrolling me in ballet classes, and Madame Marie LeBlanc – who was Mrs. Mary White outside of the dance school – told my mother that she'd seen baby elephants that were more graceful."

Joan let out a laugh, a loud belly laugh, radiating from her swollen stomach and out her wide, generous mouth.

"Oh I'm sorry," she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks, "I'm terribly sorry!"

"No," Larissa waved off the apologies through her own laughter. "Don't. I took a strange pride in it."

"Baby elephants," Joan laughed. She leaned into Larissa a bit as they both caught their breath.

"So Joan," Larissa said. "What do you say that cup of tea?"

"Sounds lovely," Joan answered. "But actually, I think now I'm more in the mood for"

"Baby elephant?" Larissa quipped, and it set the two women off again.

"Ice cream," Joan managed to get out, through her gales of laughter. "I was going to say ice cream?"

"Coffee?"

Joan shook her head. "Actually, my true favorite is vanilla, with hot fudge. I'm a bit of a traditionalist. And you, coffee ice cream?"

Larissa shook her head. "Not today. Butter pecan with caramel sauce, I think." Joan nodded her approval. "Shall we change out of these contraptions," she gestured to the brightly colored leotards, "and be on our way?"

Joan nodded and they made their way toward the ladies' locker room. "I can't wait for the day I'm not walking like a penguin anymore," she remarked.

Larissa laughed. "I'm just looking forward to having my coffee again."

"And wine," Joan said dreamily. "A nice glass of red wine in front of the fire."

"Oh yes," Larissa agreed. "Wine…"


	2. Chapter 2

December 1980

"Come in, come in!" Larissa stood in the doorway, shivering, gesturing in Joan as she rushed across the driveway as fast as the snow, and the puffy bundle she was carrying, would allow her.

"Good lord, it's coming down out there," Joan exclaimed, setting the bundle on the floor. She shook the snow off her long tan coat, unwrapping her scarf as Larissa kneeled down to remove layers of blanket and snowsuit from around the puff in the middle of the foyer.

"There you are, Pammy!" She cried happily, pulling off the hood to reveal the blinking 11-month-old in a purple jumper, her honey gold curls reflecting the light above.

"Ladadada!" Pammy agreed, clapping her pudgy hands together. Joan scooped up her daughter as Larissa deposited the damp wraps in the laundry room off the hall.

"Come on in," Larissa said, leading Joan into the living room, which was separated from the kitchen by a wide open archway. "I've got the water on for tea, the quiche is in the oven and we've got the playpen right in here now, so we don't even have to worry about getting up."

"Quiche!" Joan was impressed. "So those cooking classes are going well." She carried Pammy to the playpen, set in the kitchen, in full view of the living room. "Well, hello, Jimmy," she chirped to the nearly bald baby sitting in the pen, chewing the ear of a stuffed elephant. "Aren't you getting more handsome by the day?"

"They are," Larissa replied to Joan's adult question. One of the keys of motherhood, they'd both realized, is developing the ability to speak both "grown-up" and "child" simultaneously. "Next week we're learning soufflés."

"Impressive," Joan replied. She held Pammy over the playpen, lowering her in. Jimmy regarded this process with interest, drooling down the elephant. "Pammy, you and Jimmy play nice, okay? Play nice with Jimmy."

"Juh. Juh. Eee! Eee!" Pammy babbled. Joan was fairly certain her baby was trying to say "Jimmy." The little boy responded anyway, scooting across the playpen to Pammy, who reached out a hand to pat his face.

"Jimmy, share your toys with Pammy," Larissa said. "Share with Pammy. Share." She emphasized the last word.

"Me! Me!" Jimmy squeaked.

Larissa turned to Joan. "I honestly can't tell if he's saying "me, me" or if he's trying to say "Pammy."

"Or Jimmy," Joan suggested.

"Me!" Jimmy repeated loudly, pointing a moist fist toward his blue-eyed pen-mate. "Me!"

The mothers raised eyebrows at each other and chuckled.

"Pam-my," Larissa emphasized to her son. "Say Pam-my."

"Pammy, can you say Jim-my," Joan asked. "Jim-my."

"Juh! Juh!" Pammy announced proudly.

"Me! Me!" Jimmy shouted.

"Pam-my"

"Jim-my"

The mothers said the babies' names slowly, emphatically, again.

"Me!"

"Juh!"

Joan shook her head ruefully at Larissa. "Well, I suppose they'll learn in time."

"Shall we?" Larissa gestured to the living room. There the ladies could sit comfortably and eat the lunch Larissa had set on trays while keeping an eye on the playpen, just a few steps away.

They settled into the sofa and poured out water for tea as the babies babbled in the play pen.

"Have you given any more thought to going back for your masters next year?" Larissa asked.

Joan chewed a bite of quiche. "I think I'm going to wait a bit longer, until Pammy is old enough for nursery school. The day care is a bit more expensive than I want, but they won't take her in the school until she's trained."

"Oh and that day can't come soon enough," Larissa said. Joan nodded in vigorous agreement. "It's worse with boys though; I can't tell you how many of my blouses Peter or Jimmy have ruined. I should wear a plastic apron when I change him."

"You're still nursing, right?" Joan asked.

Larissa moved her hand in a 'sort of' gesture. "We're trying to get him off it," she replied. "He takes a bottle during the day, but in the morning and before bed, he gets cranky, and when Jimmy's cranky…"

An ear-splitting shriek pierced the air.

"What?" The mothers jumped to their feet and rushed over to the playpen. Jimmy's head was thrown back, his face red and eyes screwed shut tight. His mouth was wide open, showing his four little teeth, and there was a sound emitting from it the likes of which could scare off the neighborhood dogs. Meanwhile Pammy sat, observing her screeching friend, clutching his stuffed elephant with satisfaction.

"Pammy!" Joan scolded. "Give Jimmy back his elephant. Give it back."

Larissa lifted the screaming child from the playpen and bounced him on her hip. "Shhh…shhhh…. Jimmy you let Pammy have a turn playing with Mr. Peanuts. Pammy's turn. You get your turn again later." She bounced him a few more times. "Share with Pammy. Share." She turned to Joan. "Jimmy's not catching on to the "share" concept too quickly," she said.

Joan smiled. "Pammy's having a bit of trouble learning the "No grabbing" concept." She shook her finger gently at the little girl. "No grabbing, Pammy. Say please. Please."

"Peeze." Pammy cooed, opening her eyes wide. "Peeze."

"She'll have all the boys wrapped around her little finger with those eyes," Larissa commented, balancing a still whimpering, but far calmer, Jimmy on her hip.

Joan shook her head. "Oh, she's got Ed all tied up already. She's Daddy's little princess. Aren't you?" she asked the baby adoringly. "Aren't you Daddy's little princess?"

"Mama!" Pammy cried, pointing.

Joan sighed in fondness and exasperation. She had visions of Pammy at 16, begging for a credit card and a sports car, or even worse, hopping into some long-haired boy's sports car. "Yes, my precious, you're Mama's little princess too." She remembered then that she was supposed to be disciplining the child and shook her finger again. "But you are a naughty little girl for taking Jimmy's elephant." She shook her head and frowned, so Pammy could see she meant business. "That was a naughty thing to do."

Pammy dropped the elephant and stuck out her little lower lip. "No," she said, pointing to herself. "No."

Larissa lowered Jimmy back into the playpen. "I'm sure Jimmy would be happy to share his elephant, Pammy," she said. "Right, Jimmy? Share? Share?"

Pammy pushed the elephant back toward Jimmy, patting the stuffed toy. "No," she said quietly. "No."

Joan had learned that "no," said in a certain tone, was Pammy's way of saying "I'm sorry."

Jimmy held the toy, returning the elephant's well-chewed ear to his mouth once again.

"Jimmy, will you share Mr. Peanuts with Pammy?" Larissa asked. "Share?" She leaned into the playpen and tugged the ear gently out of Jimmy's mouth, then moved his arms toward Pammy. "Share," she said again.

"Pammy, what do you say?" Joan prompted her. "Please. Please."

Pammy blinked at Jimmy. "Peeze?" she wheedled. "Peeze Juh-ee?"

Jimmy held Mr. Peanuts out to Pammy. "Me," he said. "Me."

She reached out, a little shyly, and took the toy. "Juh-eee."

Joan and Larissa watched as Pammy hugged the elephant for a minute, then put it down, reached out and patted Jimmy's face. "Juh-eee," she said again.

Jimmy scooted closer and patted his hand over Pammy's face and head. The babies' display of affection was like watching two lion cubs, Larissa thought.

When Jimmy and Pammy had finished making up, Joan reached into the playpen and rolled a red plush ball with a bell inside it to Jimmy. She scooted the boy a few feet away from Pammy and helped him push the ball toward her.

"Roll the ball, Jimmy," she encouraged. "Roll it to Pammy. Wheee!" she cried as the ball rolled, bell tinkling, toward her daughter, who stopped it with her pudgy legs.

"Pammy, roll the ball to Jimmy," Joan encouraged. Larissa leaned over to help Pammy push the ball a bit. "Roll it to Jimmy."

The children soon caught on and got caught up in rolling the soft red ball between them, giggling happily. Larissa and Joan returned to the living room.

"Anyway," Larissa said, picking up right where they'd left off, "I've really been trying to wean him. I nursed with Petey for about 14 months, but I'd like to have Jimmy weaned sooner than that. What about Pammy?"

"More or less the same," Joan said. "And when she wakes up from her naps, she doesn't like to take the bottle. The formula makes her a little colicky if she has it too much in a day. She does well on the breast though. The pediatrician is going to try to find a formula that doesn't irritate her tummy."

Larissa nodded. "Oh, did you get that ointment for the diaper rash you were asking about?"

Joan nodded. "Yes, and it worked like a charm, thank you. I told Nancy Bernard about it too, but she said it didn't help. I thought maybe it works differently on boys and girls, but it helped with Jimmy, right?"

"Yes," Larissa said, "but you know, Nancy told me that Andy isn't, you know…"

Joan nodded.

"Maybe that matters/" Larissa asked.

Joan shrugged. Suddenly, both women's noses curled.

"Oh dear," Joan sighed.

They got up once again and went to the playpen, each woman scooping up her baby.

"Here's the culprit," Joan announced, patting Pammy's bottom.

Larissa checked Jimmy's diaper. "This one's wet."

They set diaper pads out on the kitchen floor and went to work.

"Oh, my goodness," Joan murmured, quickly depositing the dirty diaper into a diaper pail, and going to work on Pammy with a fistful of baby wipes. "We are going to have to do something about your diet, young lady."

"I'll make you a deal," Larissa told her son as she unfastened the sides of the diaper. "If you're going to pee again right now, you do while the diaper is still on. Got it?" She held the top part of the diaper in place for a minute. "Okay then," she said.

Larissa deposited the wet diaper in the pail as Joan squeezed out the greenish ointment to rub on to Pammy. Larissa had no sooner lifted Jimmy's legs and placed his bottom on a dry, powdered diaper when her sweater was hit by a small geyser.

"Oh, Jimmy," Larissa groaned. She quickly used the new diaper as a block, but not before Jimmy had effectively ruined her new white turtleneck. She shook her head at Joan, who was shaking baby powder on to Pammy. "I swear, he does this on purpose."

"Pammy got sour stomach last week and spit up on my blue silk just as Ed and I were about to leave for a night in the city," Joan offered, securing Pammy into the fresh diaper.

"I always knew babies were expensive," Larissa laughed, "I just never knew how much of that money would go into garment cleaning. I was thinking more like food and doctor bills."

She turned back to Jimmy. "That better be all you have in you, pal," she chided him gently as she reached for yet another diaper, discarding the second wet one and securing the lid on the pail.

She fastened him quickly into the second clean diaper, without further incident, and reattached his romper, as Joan tugged Pammy's wooly white tights back up her legs.

"Could you…" Larissa gestured to the spot on her chest.

"Of course." Joan scooped up one baby in each arm, balancing Pammy on her right hip and Jimmy on her left as Larissa went upstairs to change. As she walked back toward the playpen, Jimmy and Pammy both began to claw at her bosom.

"Hungry little rascals, are you?" Joan asked. "All right, we'll warm up the bottles." She deposited the children back into the playpen and moved to turn on the stove when she heard a high pitched squeal.

Turning back toward the playpen, she saw Jimmy holding the stuffed elephant on top of Pammy's head. She giggled as he bounced the toy on top of her honey-colored curls.

Joan sighed. Those two were just too cute together.


	3. Chapter 3

September, 1981

Indian summer.

The sun hung low and orange in the sky, settling over the Beesly's backyard with a heavy haze.

Joan Beesly envied her husband, who was on a weekend retreat in Vancouver. He went every year, with friends from college, to gamble, play golf and relive the last years of their boyhood.

Joan was glad Ed was able to stay in touch with his old friends; with a few exceptions, she'd lost touch with most of her old girlfriends years ago. But she was still jealous of him – he'd called that morning, reporting a cool and clear 55 degrees in Vancouver, British Columbia.

In Scranton, Pennsylvania, Joan and Larissa were fanning themselves against 85 degree heavy, hazy sun.

"I'm about two minutes away from getting in there with them," Larissa said to Joan, only half-joking.

She nodded toward the plastic wading pool, where they'd earlier deposited a cranky, hot Pammy and a grouchy, sweaty Jimmy. Playing in the cool water, the babies were significantly calmer. Pammy's cheeks were now a shell pink color, and not bright pink like the ruffled bathing suit she was wearing.

"Boat," Jimmy piped up, pushing a plastic sailboat toward Pammy. She received it happily.

"Pammy boat," she announced, swishing the toy back and forth, making ripples in the water in front of her.

Jimmy watched the funny, squiggly lines in the pool.

"Pammy boat," she repeated, just in case it wasn't clear the first time that the boat was, in fact, hers now.

"Mama, Jimmy boat?" the little boy called, not wanting to take the boat away from his friend, but wanting a boat of his own to play with.

Joan shook her head. Her daughter was so strong-willed.

"Pammy, share," she instructed. "Share the boat with Jimmy."

Pammy clutched the little red sailboat. "Pammy boat," she repeated stubbornly.

There was, however, also a blue tugboat in the little pool. Pammy pushed the little blue boat toward the little boy.

"Jimmy boat," she conceded. She pointed to the sailboat. "Pammy boat."

The mothers chuckled. "Not exactly what I meant by share," Joan quipped to Larissa.

"Oh, they're learning," her friend chided.

Jimmy and Pammy pushed their little boats back and forth on the water, making odd, onomatopoetic sounds they thought might make sense for boats.

Pammy swooped her sailboat along, fascinated by the little red boat with the little white sails, alternating between making sounds that sounded like "swoo" and "foosh" and happily saying "Pammy boat" to herself, reveling in the delight of being in possession of such a charming little vessel.

Jimmy, however, soon tired of his little blue tugboat.

Eager for a new form of amusement, he slapped his hand against the water, delighting when a spray erupted from the little pool.

He slapped his hand harder, pushing the water toward Pammy, some drops darkening the top part of her pink swimsuit.

"Jimmy," Larissa called, "no splashing."

But Pammy didn't pout or cry as the mothers had feared she might. She giggled delightedly, finally abandoning her red sailboat, and mimicked Jimmy, slapping her own little hands against the water.

Pammy kicked her legs, churning the water, sending splashes in Jimmy's direction.

"Hahahaha Jimmy!" she laughed.

The children delighted in splashing each other, utterly thrilled by their newly discovered activity.

Until Jimmy sent up a particularly enthusiastic spray that sent some drops into Pammy's wide open eyes.

In a second, her smile was pulled into reverse, her eyes filled up with wetness not from the water, and her tinkling bell laughter gave way to wounded animal cries.

"Jimmy!" Larissa scolded. "Oh Joan, I'm sorry."

Joan kneeled by the pool, patting Pammy's wet face with a soft towel, murmuring to her.

"It was an accident," she assured her friend. "Jimmy didn't mean it."

She rubbed tiny circles on Pammy's back. "You're okay," she told her baby. "You were just a little surprised, but you're okay, Pammy's okay."

Meanwhile, not quite understanding why his friend had suddenly started to cry, but scared he'd done something wrong, Jimmy had begun to wail as well.

"It's okay, Jimmy," Joan assured the little boy. "Pammy's okay."

As Pammy calmed down, so did Jimmy, until they both let out a couple of whimpers and hiccups.

"Jimmy," Larissa asked, "can you say 'I'm sorry' to Pammy?"

"Sorry, Pammy. Sorry, Pammy. Sorry, Pammy," Jimmy said unhappily. "Jimmy sorry." He scooted a few feet in the pool so he was right in front of her. "Jimmy sorry, Pammy," he said again.

Joan kissed Pammy's round cheek and tickled her tummy, making her let out a still sad sounding little giggle. She gave the little girl a kiss on the nose and she giggled again, happier this time.

"Pammy, say 'I forgive you, Jimmy'," Joan guided. "I forgive you."

"Give Jimmy," Pammy repeated, in part, reaching out and pushing her hands over his face, smushing his chubby cheeks.

Joan and Larissa looked at each other, amused.

"Jimmy," Larissa called, "can you give Pammy a kiss? Give Pammy a kiss."

Jimmy pressed his wet little lips to Pammy's, then sat back and blew a spit bubble.

The little girl regarded her friend a moment, then reached out and retrieved the little red sailboat.

"Jimmy boat," she offered.

He smiled and patted the boat, then reached up to pat Pammy's nose.

"Jimmy Pammy boat," he decided. He pushed the boat toward her. "Pammy boat."

She pushed it back. "Jimmy boat."

Joan and Larissa watched them.

Larissa glanced at the children, then at Joan, a smile on the corners of her mouth.

"Jimmy's Pammy," she said, as if it were inevitable.

Joan laughed, agreeing. "Pammy's Jimmy."


	4. Chapter 4

May 1982

"Kissing?" Joan was aghast. "He's six!"

Larissa nodded wearily. "Oh, if only that were it," she said, recounting the embarrassing phone call from the elementary school.

"There's more?" Not having yet experienced the joys of a first grade child, Joan was incredulous. Not that Pammy was always an angel, but at least there was no kissing – or more - on the school playground. Yet.

"Uh huh – Jimmy, don't put that in your mouth! Jimmy, no, yucky," she called over to where Jimmy and Pammy were playing on the grass by the slide.

The park was fairly quiet on a Tuesday afternoon, just a handful of parents with their children, a high school age couple ditching school to make out by the fountain, a woman in her late 20s reading alone on a bench, and on the far edge of the park, a middle aged man in a well-worn suit, miming playing the guitar and singing "Stairway to Heaven" to an audience of oddly shaped rocks he'd assembled. Larissa and Joan paid him no mind. Creed had been a staple in Scranton for years. He was eccentric but completely harmless.

"What else?" Joan asked.

Larissa sighed. "Apparently, there was an exchange of 'I show you mine, you show me yours' going on under the jungle gym with Sarah Ostrowski."

Joan chuckled a bit.

"It's not that I want them to feel ashamed," Larissa went on. "I don't want to teach my kids that the human body is something dirty; I don't believe that. It's just, there's a time and place, and Peter's almost seven. He should know better."

At two-and-a-half, however, Jimmy didn't know better. All he knew is that it was hot and his red corduroy overalls were itchy. He tugged on them, scowling at Pammy.

"Bad!" He announced.

The little girl swished her pigtails. She liked the red color of Jimmy's overalls and didn't think there was anything bad about them. She just wanted to keep playing with the funny brown things.

"Jimmy, play," Pammy commanded. She pushed a pinecone toward him. "Play Pammy."

Bored of the pinecones, however, Jimmy threw it with all his might, the object landing about 6 inches in front of them. He jumped up and ran in circles. Pammy jumped from her spot on the grass and chased him.

Jimmy was Pammy's favorite thing. She loved him more than she loved her Cabbage Patch doll, Amelia Janetta.

It was fun when Pammy ran after him, Jimmy thought. She was even more fun to play with than a Tonka truck. The most fun was when he got to play Tonka trucks with Pammy. Jimmy's overalls were still itchy.

The high school couple by the fountain had stopped making out and had starting fighting, loudly, using words not suitable for a park where children were playing. Joan and Larissa turned from their spot on the shared bench to glare disapprovingly at the teenagers.

When they turned back, they saw Jimmy's bare little behind as he ran toddingly after Pammy in her yellow sunsuit.

"Not again," Larissa groaned. "Jimmy!" She got up and jogged toward her son. "Jimmy, it's not naked time right now." She scooped up her child and his abandoned garments, carrying him back to the bench. Pammy trailed behind them.

"He's going through a naked phase," Larissa explained to Joan.

"Pammy's in her mini-fashionista phase," Joan replied. "The other night I couldn't get her to go to sleep until I put a ribbon in her hair." She pulled Pammy up on to her lap.

"No, bad. Jimmy don't like," he protested as his mother struggled to get his clothes back on. He squirmed like a baby eel.

Pammy saw no reason for Jimmy to be unhappy. "Jimmy don't like," she repeated. "No. No."

Joan hushed Pammy softly as Larissa pulled out the big guns.

"Jimmy, want to go to zoo? Want to see the grrrr tigers?" The zoo was only a few blocks away and guaranteed to win her son over.

"Grrrrrrrr!" Jimmy happily mimicked the tiger sound, barely noticing as Larissa tugged his training pants back on him.

"Grrrrrrrrr!" Pammy echoed as Joan bounced her.

With the promise of the zoo and the grrrr tigers, Jimmy allowed his mother to redress him with little protestations, as Pammy bounced on Joan's knee and sang.

"I be workin' on the raaaay ro all the ray ro raaaaay…"

"Jimmy!" Pammy yelled from her stroller.

The foursome was standing outside the monkey cage. Jimmy and Pammy were strapped into strollers as Larissa and Joan stood behind them.

"Jimmy!" Pammy yelled again, pointing at the baby chimpanzee with the protruding ears.

Joan flushed slightly and muttered an apology to Larissa, who waved it off. "He'll grow into them."

It was true that Jimmy's ears were a bit big for his head, but nothing terrible. It didn't help matters, however, when he pushed his upper lip forward with his tongue and puffed his cheeks out, making a monkey face like his big brother had taught him.

Pammy pointed at her friend and giggled delightedly as the mothers pushed the strollers along to the tiger cage.

As he looked at the animal, Jimmy pointed in boyish fascination. "Grrrrrr…." He piped up.

"Yes, Jimmy," Larissa agreed. "Grrrrrrr…..can you say tiger, Jimmy?"

"Ti-Grrrrrrrr," Jimmy announced proudly. Larissa and Joan clapped for him.

Not to be outdone, Pammy burst forth as well. She liked being clapped for too.

"Penis!" Pammy yelled, loud enough for the family over by the elephant cage, just behind them, to take note and turn around.

"Pamela!" Joan Beesly wasn't a prude, but she valued propriety and her toddler screaming words for genitals in public wasn't exactly her idea of thrilling behavior. "Pammy, I told you, that is not an outside voice word."

She turned to Larissa, who was barely holding in her laughter. "Ed's brother was in town last weekend with his kids and they thought it would be funny – do you think this is funny?" She was trying to be indignant but having trouble keeping a straight face at the tears now rolling down her friend's cheeks and the absurdity of it all.

"At least Pammy is just saying the word," Larissa pointed out through her laughter. "My kids apparently have a predilection for showing theirs off in public places."

By now, Joan was laughing too. Larissa kneeled in front of the stroller and shook her head at Jimmy.

"If you ever get arrested for indecent exposure," she informed her son, "I'm not fronting your bail money."

The two-year-old had no idea what the words his mommy was saying meant, but she was making a funny, happy face. Jimmy started laughing too, which set Pammy off.

She reached her hand out to Jimmy, who took it. The babies swung their hands together across the small space between the strollers.

"Oh, I'm a bad mother," Joan moaned. "Pammy, you're getting a talking-to when we get home."

Having had the experience of an older child, Larissa spoke rationally. "It's not that bad," she assured Joan. "Just think of all the other lovely words they'll grow up to learn how to say."

Joan moaned again. "Oh god, they are going to grow up, aren't they?"

Her friend nodded. "I'm afraid so."

In their strollers, Jimmy and Pammy blew wet raspberries at each other with glee.


	5. Chapter 5

October 1983

"PammyPammyPammyPammyPammy!"

Larissa blew her bangs out of her eyes as her three year old ran into the front hallway like the Tasmanian devil, screeching at the top of his lungs.

Pammy, perched on her father's hip in the doorway, abandoned her calm state and matched Jimmy's screams.

"JimmyJimmyJimmyJimmy!"

She squirmed to be let down. Ed placed her on the floor and the miniature whirling dervishes raced off, Jimmy in his green striped pajamas, Pammy in her light blue ones.

"Are you sure about this?" Joan asked her friend.

Larissa nodded. "Don't even worry about it," she assured Ed and Joan. "Pammy can stay here as long as you need."

"Sorry to barge in like this," Ed apologized and Larissa waved him off.

"Ed," she insisted. "You're family. Anything you need. You just go to Baltimore and take care of your mother. Have you heard anything else?"

Joan shook her head. "The hospital said they're pretty sure it was a stroke, but they don't know. There's damage from the fall too, so…" she was tearing up a bit. Ed rubbed her shoulders.

Larissa kissed her friends and guided them out the door. "Just get down there and see what's happening. Best you can do for Evie is to let her know you're with her. You call if there's anything I can do."

"Thank you so much, Larissa," Joan called as she and Ed went to their car. "I hope you won't be too overwhelmed. Pammy had her bath and she knows to be on best behavior."

"If that stuck," Ed quipped and the ladies laughed in agreement.

"It's absolutely no problem," Larissa assured. "Bill took Pete on his Cub Scout camping trip. I deal with two boys all the time. Pammy's a love. We adore her. Please, go, we'll be fine here."

She waved as Joan and Ed got in their car and drove away.

Moving back inside and closing the door behind her, Larissa realized that it was quiet.

Too quiet.

"Jimmy?" she called out, her voice rising with suspicion. "Pammy?"

A giggle erupted from the kitchen. Then another. And another.

"Oh no." Larissa ran into the kitchen.

"And that's why I didn't want to get the industrial sized flour, Bill," she muttered, surveying the sight before her.

The brownie batter she'd been mixing was on the counter, on the chair that has been pulled up to the counter, on the floor – anywhere but the bowl, really. Much of the brown, sticky sweetness was on Jimmy and Pammy, who had managed to rip open the 40 pound bag of flour and were now making angels on the floor, the way they'd learned to make them in the snow last year.

"Lord give me strength," Larissa muttered, rolling her eyes toward the heavens. She put her hands on her hips.

"James Halpert! Pamela Beesly!"

At the sound of their names – their full names at that – the two sticky, powdery messes stopped waving their arms and legs in the piles of flour and looked up with guilty expressions.

"Just what on earth do you two think you're doing?"

Her son looked up at her with his best "Aren't I adorable" face. "Angels, Momma."

Pammy smiled shyly.

Larissa shook her head at both of them. "Oh, you two are no angels right now." She pointed toward the downstairs bathroom. "In there, please. March."

Pammy, who was good at following specific instructions like "march," but not as good at following general ones like "behave," stood up and began to literally march toward the bathroom, her arms and legs pumping rhythmically. Jimmy eagerly followed her. He was just good at doing whatever Pammy did.

Larissa followed them in and flipped on the tap in the bathtub.

Jimmy immediately shook his head. "No, Momma. Bad bath. Bad. Bad bath."

"I'll get the fun bath things from upstairs, but we are taking off those messy clothes first," Larissa insisted. She kneeled down on the floor. "Arms up."

The kids lifted their arms obediently and Larissa pulled batter-and-flour covered pajama tops off their still baby-pudgy bodies.

"Can you get undressed the rest of the way by yourselves while I go get Mr. Bubble?" she asked.

"And Rubber Ducky!" yelled Jimmy.

"And crayons!" piped up Pammy.

"Yes, you rascals," Larissa sighed, heading out of the bathroom.

When she returned, Jimmy and Pammy were standing naked, facing each other with perplexed looks on their messy faces.

"Is Pammy broken?" Jimmy asked, concerned.

Pammy pointed. "Why does Jimmy have funny stuff?"

It had been a few months since Jimmy and Pammy were last undressed together and clearly they'd forgotten the "how boys and girls are different" lessons Larissa and Joan had given them.

She tried to make it as simple as possible. "Little boys and little girls are different from each other, but both boys and girls are very special," Larissa informed them as she poured Mr. Bubble under the tap and put the Rubber Ducky and bath crayons in the tub.

"In you go," she said, taking them each by the hand and stepping them into the tub. Kneeling down on the bathroom floor, she went to work on the two sticky messes, alternating between them as Pammy drew with the bath crayons, her little pink tongue sticking out between her teeth, and Jimmy piled bubbles on top of his head, Pammy's head and, much to Larissa's dismay, his mother's head.

"Jimmy," she said sternly, "it's not Momma's bath time. Bubbles stay in the tub."

"Is Jimmy bad?" Pammy asked, worried.

Larissa shook her head. "No, honey. Jimmy's not bad. Neither are you. But you are both very mischievous. Messing up the kitchen was a naughty thing to do. You'll both get a punishment for that."

Jimmy's and Pammy's eyes went wide. "Spanking?" Jimmy asked in a whisper.

"What? Where did you hear about spanking?"

Larissa and Bill had never spanked their boys. She knew Ed and Joan had never spanked Pammy. Yet both children were staring at her wide-eyed from the bathtub.

"Charlie says his stairs-daddy gives him spankings when he's bad," Jimmy told her.

Pammy shook her head. "I don't want spanking."

Larissa sighed, making a mental note to call Miss Lapin at the nursery school. She didn't want to overreact or put her nose where it didn't belong, but just in case…

"You're not getting spanked," she assured them. "I promise, no spankings." She shielded Pammy's eyes as she poured a cup of warm water over her head, rinsing the bubbles out. "But since you spilled the brownie mix, no brownies. And no morning cartoons tomorrow."

"Momma!"

"Rissa!"

"No indeed," Larissa said over their one word protestations. "Maybe next time you two will learn that flour is for cooking, not for making angels all over my kitchen floor."

Pammy batted her eyelashes. "Pammy's sorry. Never do it again."

Larissa laughed, tapping the little girl on the nose. "I know that eye fluttering routine doesn't work on your parents, young lady, and it's not going to work here. You're still punished. But it's very nice of you to say you're sorry."

She finished rinsing the kids and pulled the drain in the tub, then helped them step out carefully, wrapping them in fluffy light blue towels.

While Larissa went to work on Pammy's hair with the comb and bottle of No-More-Tangles Joan had packed, Jimmy found a can of shaving cream under the sink.

"Shaving like daddy does," he informed his mother. Larissa laughed as Jimmy spread shaving cream over his face the way he'd seen Bill do.

"And a dot." He placed a dot of cream on Pammy's nose, like Bill had done to him and Pete. "And a dot for Momma." Larissa received one as well.

"Momma, can Pammy shave too?"

Larissa was about to explain that girls don't shave their faces like boys do, but decided against it. Heck, the kids were going to be dealing with gender dichotomy soon enough.

"Of course," she said, securing Pammy's hair back in a braid. The girl giggled as Jimmy, with Larissa's help, rubbed Old Spice shaving cream on her cheeks and chin.

Larissa found two foam emery boards and handed them to the kids, who took turns at the mirror, scraping their cheeks with the soft "shavers."

:"Come on, little shavers," she said after a few minutes. "Time to go." She wiped them both down with a washcloth and patted their faces dry with the towels they were still bundled up in.

She led them upstairs and into the boys' room, where she settled them Jimmy's bottom bunk.

"He-Man jammies," Jimmy piped up as Larissa turned to the bureau to get out new pajamas.

She sighed. "Jimmy, those are downstairs. You can wear them tomorrow."

He pressed his lips together. "Please Momma? Please and thank you?" He beamed at her.

Larissa shook her head. "You're going to be a charmer just like your father, aren't you? All right, all right," she said. "I'll go get them. You two don't get into anything else."

When she returned, He-Man pajamas in hand, Jimmy and Pammy were fast asleep, their heads next to each other on the blue pillowcase with the red trains.

Larissa put the pajamas on the dresser, went over to the bed and pulled the towels more tightly around them, bundling them both in.

"Just…don't wet the bed," she whispered as she pulled the comforter up around the kids.

She placed kisses on both little foreheads and slipped out the door, turning off the light, but leaving the door open so the light from the hall seeped in.

Once in the hall, Larissa sighed. She had a kitchen to clean.


	6. Chapter 6

_November, 1984_

"Doody!" Jimmy exclaimed quietly, as he pressed his green crayon to the paper too hard and the wax stick broke.

Pammy giggled as she plucked the green crayon from her own box, passing it to Jimmy.

"Excellent sharing, Pammy," Miss Lapin said as she surveyed her class coloring in their hand turkeys. "Jimmy, what do we say?"

"Thank you, Pammy," Jimmy said obediently.

"You're welcome, Jimmy," Pammy replied back, trying her best to stay in the lines with the red crayon.

Satisfied, Miss Lapin moved along.

_August, 1985_

LEMNAD

"Jimmy," Pammy called, exasperatedly, "you did it wrong!"

"Why?" Jimmy whined up at Pammy as she looked over his shoulder, scowling at the sign he'd written.

"You have to sound out, remember?"

Jimmy stomped his foot. "Don't be bossy, Pammy. I did sound out."

Pammy sighed. "No. It's Lem. Min. You need the I in there. And I think maybe there's a silent e."

Jimmy regarded her suspiciously. "Are you sure?"

It was Pammy's turn to stomp. "Yes!"

He fixed the sign according to her instructions, just in time for their first customers – Mommy and Mommy.

"Good afternoon," Pammy said in her most grown up voice.

"Would you like a nice lemonade?" Jimmy asked, his tone mimicking Pammy's.

Joan smiled. "I would very much enjoy a lemonade." She turned to Larissa. "Would you?"

Larissa nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, please."

Carefully, Jimmy poured two cups and handed them to the mothers.

"Ten cents please," Pammy said.

Jimmy shook his head. "Pammy!" he hissed.

"Oh yeah. Ummm…." She paused, trying to calculate. "Two ten cents please," she said finally.

Two dimes were handed over and, with two pairs of eager eyes on them, Larissa and Joan sipped from their cups.

"Mmmm…." Larissa smiled, nodding and rubbing her tummy.

"Oooh…." Joan made the same motions.

Jimmy and Pammy grinned in pride as their mothers turned around, stepping a few feet away from the table set up on the sidewalk in front of the Beesly's house.

Joan leaned to whisper to Larissa.

"Mother of god, how did they get into the salt?"

_May, 1986_

"Don't cry, Jimmy," Pammy sniffed tearfully.

Jimmy sobbed. "I hate my bike!"

At his sobs, Pammy's quivering chin crumpled.

"Almost there," Joan called from the driver's seat. "Hang on Jimmy."

"Okay," Jimmy wailed, trying to be brave.

Pammy leaned over and pressed her lips to the bandanna covering Jimmy's bloody knee.

"Kiss to make it better," she told him.


	7. Chapter 7

**March, 1987**

"_**Come on Pammy, I dare you." **_

"_**Jimmy, no, I'll get in trouble."**_

_**He shook his head. "No, my mom's upstairs, she won't know." **_

_**Pammy regarded him suspiciously. "Okay, but then we can play Nintendo again?"**_

_**He nodded solemnly. "Yes." **_

"_**Okay," Pammy sighed. "But I don't know why it's funny." **_

_**Jimmy shrugged. "Pete said to say it." **_

_**Pammy shrugged. "Okay."**_

_**She picked up the phone and dialed the number Jimmy was pointing to in the phone book.**_

"_**Hello, Kentucky Fried Chicken?" Pammy asked. "How big are your breasts?"**_

_**August, 1988**_

"**Hey Jimmy," Pammy yelled, "want to build a sandcastle?"**

**Jimmy looked up from the hole he was digging. **

"**Yeah Jimmy," called Pete, "want to go build a sandcastle with your girlfriend?"**

**Red-faced, Jimmy threw a handful of hand at his brother. "She is NOT my girlfriend!"**

**He turned to Pammy and shook his head. "Sandcastles are dumb," he said, "they're for girls."**

**He said the word "girls" like it tasted bad. **

**Pammy's face fell. "Oh," she said sadly. "Okay." **

**She stood up, brushed the sand off her mint green bathing suit with the black polka-dots and little skirt, picked up her sand toys and walked down the beach alone. **

**A little while later (after Pete had gone away to flirt with the lifeguard), Jimmy made his way over to where Pammy was playing by herself. **

"**Sorry I was mean to you, Pammy," he said. **

**She didn't look up. **

"**Can I play with you?" **

**This time Pammy looked up. She didn't say anything, but handed him a red plastic shovel. He dropped down to the sand next to her. **

"**We could make a sand sports car," she suggested quietly. **

**Jimmy shook his head. "Nah, a castle's okay. As long as it has a moat."**

**Pammy smiled a little bit. "And a dragon?"**

**He broke out in a big grin. "Yeah! A dragon!"**

_**January, 1989**_

"**Pammy and Jimmy, sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" **

**Pammy threw a piece of her peanut butter sandwich at the chanting boy. **

"**Shut up Roy Anderson, you ape."**

**But Roy wouldn't be swayed. "First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Pammy with a baby carriage!"**

**Jimmy chewed his ham and cheese sandwich. "Just ignore him," he whispered. Pammy turned her back and tried, but the taunts kept coming. **

"**Hey Pammy, are you going to have a baby with Jimmy?" Roy asked. He giggled. "You know how you get a baby, right Pammy? He puts his…"**

**Jimmy stood up. "Leave Pammy alone," he ordered. "Leave her the," he took a deep breath, "HELL alone." **


	8. Chapter 8

**July, 1990**

"_**Will you write to me?" Pammy asked tearfully.**_

_**Jimmy nodded. He had a funny feeling, like a rumbling on the roof of his mouth and at the back of his throat. **_

_**Some might say he felt like he was about to cry. **_

_**But Jimmy knew he wasn't going to cry. **_

"_**And come visit me in California?" **_

_**Jimmy nodded again, but didn't say anything. **_

_**Pammy threw her arms around Jimmy's neck. "You're my best friend in the whole wide world," she whispered. **_

_**He stood stiffly for a minute, then put his arms around her, hugging her tight. The funny feeling felt funnier." **_

"_**Pammy," her dad called. "Come on, baby, we have to go." **_

_**Sobbing, Pammy let go of Jimmy and ran as fast as she could into the car.**_

_**Jimmy turned and ran down the street, ducking by his mother as she reached out for him. **_

_**He didn't want anyone to see him when he started to cry. **_

_**December, 1991**_

**Jimmy tasted watermelon gum.**

**Katy Dawson had been chewing it earlier. **

**They'd kissed that night, playing 7 Minutes in Heaven at Kelly Kapoor's boy-girl birthday party.**

**Katy was one of the most popular girls in school. And she had boobs.**

**Breasts.**

**Jimmy's mom had overheard him and Andy talking about boobs one day and told him the correct word was breasts and that it wasn't nice to talk about a girl's breasts because lots of girls were shy about them.**

**But Katy had big ones and she wasn't shy. She wore shiny super tight tops, like bathing suit material.**

**Jimmy wondered if she'd let him touch one.**

**She hadn't. But she'd opened her mouth and let him put his tongue in.**

**That was pretty cool, he guessed. **

**He wondered if it was totally gross not to brush his teeth so he wouldn't lose the flavor. **

_**December, 1992**_

"**Wow Pammy, that's a totally rad sign." **

**Pammy grinned up from the poster board and paint pens. **

"**Thanks, Sarah!"**

**They flicked their ponytails, Pammy's auburn and curly, Sarah's blond and straight, in a sign of solidarity. **

"**People are totally going to want to come to the dance," Sarah said, putting her hands on her hips. "Who are you going to go with?"**

"**Oh, I don't think…" Pammy started to say, as Alex came up behind Sarah and looked at the sign. **

"**You should write SEX on that, so people look at it," he snickered. **

**Sarah rolled her eyes at Alex. "Get LOST, dorkweed!**

**Pammy rolled her eyes at the poster board, but was secretly happy Alex had interrupted. She didn't want to tell Sarah she didn't really want to go to the dance at all. **


	9. Chapter 9

_September, 1993_

Jimmy hated wearing new jeans. They were stiff and uncomfortable.

Unfortunately, they were necessary. He'd grown nearly 8 inches in the last year. Now 6 feet tall (and the doctor said he'd grow at least another inch), his clothes from last year didn't fit anymore.

But today he didn't care. Of course, he wasn't going to let anyone know he was excited. That would be totally uncool.

"Are you excited to see Pammy again?" his mother asked him as he wolfed down the eggs and bacon she'd made.

"Mrrphh grlg," he replied around the heaping mouthful he was chewing.

"So wonderful Ed was transferred back home," Larissa said happily. "It'll be nice for you to be reunited with your old friend. You two were so cute together when you were little. Anytime you opened your mouth it was always "Pammy this" and "Pammy that…"

Jimmy rolled his eyes in that way 13-year-old boys do, all the way into the back of his head, without even trying.

"I think you had little crushes on each other…" Larissa's voice had that trailing off into memory quality.

"Geez, Mom!" Jimmy bolted from the table, grabbing his book bag. "I gotta go."

He shoved his plate into the sink and headed out the front door. It was going to be so cool to have Pammy back in town. They could go see Army of Darkness. He couldn't wait to prank Andy Bernard with her. They'd been friends with Andy when they were little kids, but he'd gotten so annoying, singing all the time like he was in a musical.

Of course, Jimmy's friends would give him trouble about being friends with a girl, he knew that, but Pammy wasn't like a girl girl. Yeah, it was all going to be cool.

As he approached the bus stop, Jimmy could see a girl standing with her back to him. She was wearing jeans and a black ribbed shirt, with a red backpack on one shoulder. Her hair was kind of reddish-brownish-goldish with big curls. Jimmy wondered what the new girl's name was.

As he was about to open his mouth, she turned around.

She'd blossomed. That's what his mom would say. "Blossomed." Like the TV show. Which meant that she had boobs. Kind of big ones. That was the first thing he noticed, the first thing any boy his age notices. And she was wearing make up. Not a lot, but some.

She was…wow, she was really pretty. No. Hot. She was hot.

Jimmy stared. "Pammy?" he asked, still not entirely sure.

She laughed. "Oh my god, like no one's called me Pammy in like, forever. I go by Pam now. Pammy's such a baby name."

"Oh." Jimmy felt kind of embarrassed. "Maybe I should go by Jim instead of Jimmy."

Pammy, no, Pam, laughed again. "Totally. You're way too tall to be a Jimmy anymore. You're like a giant now, dude."

He shuffled his feet. "Yeah, I know."

They both shifted their eyes around. They were alone.

"So, like, are you going to like, give me a hug hello?" Pam challenged.

Jimmy…wait, Jim, wasn't sure of the rules. And he definitely had to play cool. "Um, yeah, I guess, if you want."

Pammy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, retard!"

They stepped toward each other and reached out a little awkwardly. Where did the arms go? Around the waist? The shoulders?

Eventually they got it and hugged tightly. Pam's head smushed against Jim's chest a little. He could feel her breasts smushing into his stomach, which was kind of weird. The last time they'd hugged each other, before she moved, they hadn't been there.

It was totally weird.

Jim felt something all of a sudden. Geez, again? This was happening all the time now. He was pretty sure something was wrong.

Quickly, he let go of Pam and stepped away before she could feel it. He slouched and turned away a little.

Pam pretended to look at some ants on the sidewalk and pressed her lips together so she wouldn't giggle.

Jim had totally had a boner.


	10. Chapter 10

October, 1994

"Oh my god!" Pam was laughing so hard, tears were coming out of her eyes. "You can't be serious."

Jim fixed her with a level gaze. "Do you think I would make that up?"

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "You do really well in creative writing class."

"Okay," he agreed, "but if I were lying, would I be bouncing? Seriously, could this bus be any slower? I might die."

"Didn't you just go after last period? Are you 92 or something?"

Jim glared. "I told you what happened! You try peeing when Andy Bernard is locked in a stall singing "I'll Make Love to You."

"As God is my witness," Pam informed her friend, "I will never pee in a room that Andy Bernard is in."

"Yeah, well neither could I," Jim scowled. "And I was going to miss the bus."

Mercifully, the bus arrived at their stop six minutes later. Jim scrambled off the bus, and after being told by a disgusted Pam that he "wasn't a puppy," repressed his instinct to relieve himself in Mrs. Glickson's hedge and raced down the street toward his house, yelling to Pam that he'd see her later.

Four hours later, when she answered her door, Jim was standing in a pair of jeans and a red and black striped rugby shirt. His eyes popped at the sight of her flapper costume – green fringed dress, red bobbed wig, feathered headband and fishnet stockings.

Pam shifted uncomfortably. "Come on, don't look at me like that," she begged.

Jim shut his mouth. "I, uh, thought we were going to go as Sonny and Cher to the Halloween dance," he said, which was the only thing he could think of to say besides a lot of things he was pretty sure wouldn't help with that uneasy look on Pam's face. He pointed to his "Hello my name is SONNY" nametag that was affixed to his shirt.

She shrugged apologetically. "I know, but I saw this costume and just….are you mad?"

He shook his head. "It's cool. Do you have a pen?"

She produced one and he peeled the label off his shirt, crossing out the "Sonny" and replacing it with "Dave."

"Why Dave?"

Jim shrugged. Pam laughed.

"You, uh, you look really pretty," he mumbled.

She blushed.

"What?" Jim pleaded, over the sound of Real McCoy's "Another Night."

Pam shook her head. "No way, it's a surprise." She grinned at him. Jim pulled at the neck of his shirt.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He shook his head. "What?"

"You've been tugging at your shirt like that all night, freak," she teased, but her eyes were concerned. "Are you okay?"

Jim nodded, a little too enthusiastically. "Yeah, yeah," he replied. "Yeah I'm fine. Fine. Totally fine."

"Okay," she replied. "I'm gonna…" she pointed toward the girls' room on the other side of the gym.

"Right," he nodded. "Yeah."

Pam wove her way through the crowd of high school freshmen. Jim yanked at his collar again.

"Shit," he whispered to himself. "Just do it. Just…just do it."

Scanning the room, he spotted Kelly Kapoor. They were friends, kind of, in that Kelly loved just about everyone, and Jim felt kind of bad for her because of the way guys talked about her in the locker room. They liked her body but basically wished she'd shut up. He didn't really want to deal with her right now.

A group of girls pushed past him, heading toward the bathroom. A pretty redhead was in the middle of the pack, dressed in a princess costume.

"Hey Katy," Jim called out. The pack stop, turning to stare at him.

"Um, yeah?" The others giggled as she looked expectantly, and yet boredly, at Jim.

"If you see Pam Beesly in there, will you tell her to meet me in the hall?"

A look of surprise registered on Katy's face. Popular girls weren't used to delivering messages to girls like Pam, girls who didn't pass notes in class or who sometimes spent her lunch period drawing, her turkey sandwich forgotten.

"Sure," Katy said coolly, "it's John, right?"

"Jim," he replied. He wasn't sure if Katy was pretending to forget his name or if she really didn't know it, but he wasn't surprised if she didn't know who he was, even though they'd French kissed at Kelly's party in the sixth grade. From what people said, Katy had done an awful lot of French kissing.

Jim, well, not so much.

"Hey," Pam pushed her way out of the gym and into the hallway. Jim was leaning against the lockers. "Why are you out here?"

Jim tugged on his shirt collar again. Pam glared at him.

"Why do you keep doing that?" she demanded, stalking toward him. "It's really annoying. Are you sure you're okay?"

He sucked in air. "Pamwillyougooutwithme?" he sputtered without taking a breath.

She froze, right in front of where he stood. "What?"

Jim sighed. "Will you go out with me?"

Pam looked scared. "Are you teasing me?"

He shook his head. "You know I wouldn't do that to you. I'm not like those jerks on JV football."

"No, I know," she said, starting at her shoes. "It's just…well, it's weird."

He shrugged. "Yeah, I know. If you don't want to, it's okay." He wanted to be anywhere but there right now. He thought about sneaking out to the field and running laps, anything but this.

"No," she said hurriedly. "It's just…it's like in "When Harry Met Sally" when they say that guys and girls can't be friends because of the sex getting in the way? I don't want to not be friends."

"I don't want to not be friends, either," he told her. "You're my best friend, Pam."

She smiled. "You're my best friend."

"It's just," he sighed, and took a deep breath, gathering the last of his courage. "It's just I also like you. Like, like you like you. As more than friends."

Pam looked stunned.

"Do something," Jim said. "Hit me or run away or something. Stop staring at me."

"I like you too," she whispered.

Jim felt a whooshing of air leave his body. "Oh."

He stepped toward her so they were only an inch or so apart. He was pretty sure what he was supposed to do now.

They stared at each other, breathing hard. Reaching out slowly, Jim puts a hand on Pam's cheek as she placed her hand on his shoulder.

"One…" Jim counted in his head.

"Two…" Pam counted in hers.

"Three."

They pressed their mouths together, and just as soon as it began, their first kiss was over.

Jim stared at Pam.

Pam stared at Jim.

They both started to laugh, relaxing. As they laughed, their eyes locked and they moved in again. This time, Jim put his arms around Pam's waist and she put hers around his neck. He bent down and she stood on her toes, and then, they were kissing again.

It wasn't as weird as they'd thought it would be. In fact, it wasn't really weird at all.

Jim nudged Pam's lips apart with his tongue. Pam remembered what Sarah had told her about making out.

"Put your fingers in his hair and write your name in his mouth with your tongue," Sarah had said. She had older sisters.

Pam did what she'd been told and Jim seemed to like it, because he pushed his own tongue further into her mouth.

She'd gotten to the A in Pamela when "The Sign" by Ace of Base stopped playing and the DJ said: "This next song is dedicated to everyone's favorite math teacher, Mr. Hudson, from his favorite student, Andy Bernard."

Jim and Pam broke apart, laughing, as "I'll Make Love to You" began playing.

He stared at her. Their eyes were both wide, their lips pink and wet.

"Is this what you did when you went up to the DJ booth?"

She nodded happily.

Jim shook his head. "Pam, I swear, I could kiss you."

Realizing what they'd just been doing, Jim and Pam chuckled nervously.

"I mean, again," he amended.

They laughed again and shuffled nervously.

"So, um, what do we do now?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I never had a girlfriend before."

Pam's eyes widened. "I'm your girlfriend now?"

"I mean, if you want to be," Jim stammered.

She nodded. "I…yeah. Yeah okay."

He grinned and kissed her on the cheek. When he pulled away, Pam felt a tingling where his lips had been and a funny feeling in her stomach.

She was pretty sure this is what people meant when they talked about butterflies.


	11. Chapter 11

September 1995

Pam bit her lip and peered at the large canvas spread out over the floor.

"I don't know," she mused. "What do you think?"

Oscar shook his head and laughed. "Pam, I'm telling you, it looks great."

She didn't quite believe him.

"I think it just needs…" she dipped her paintbrush into a splotch of green paint and was aiming the brush at the canvas when a commotion occurred behind her, where JV basketball practice was taking place. Suddenly, there was shouting and she heard voices yelling "watch out, watch out!"

But before she could react, a basketball bounced wildly out of bounds, over to the side of the gym where the sets were being painted for "A Midsummer Night's Dream," against the coffee can of water that Pam was using to clean her brushes, and knocked said can over, spilling paint-murky water onto the still wet canvas.

She watched in horror as the colors bled together.

Jim was typically a controlled player. That helped him even more than being tall. He knew if it weren't for stupid seniority rules, he would have made varsity as a sophomore. Coach had even told him he had better ball handling skills than some of the seniors.

But maybe his mind just wasn't on the game today.

When the ball ricocheted off the backboard, Jim caught the rebound and moved to pass, but threw wild.

The ball bounced out of bounds, dribbling across the gym floor, over toward….

"Watch out, watch out!" he yelled, running after the ball, then freezing in horror.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion.

Pam looked up, her jaw dropped, from the ruined canvas to the direction it had come from, up the high tops, up the long legs in black workout shorts, up the blue Scranton High t-shirt, up to the stunned, sweaty, horrified face.

Of Jim Halpert.

When her eyes met his, it was like his on button switched on again and he raced across the gym, dropping down by the canvas.

"I'm sorry," he babbled. "I'm so sorry, I threw too hard and the ball and…I'm so, so sorry…"

He lost track of the words coming out of his mouth, just spewed apologies as he looked frantically around for something to try to fix what he'd broken.

"It's fine," she was saying flatly, but he didn't hear it.

In desperation, he yanked his t-shirt over his head, using the material to blot up the water that had spread over the canvas, spreading color like rainbow rivers.

"Just stop," she said, "stop," but Jim kept on pressing, kept repeating "sorry" over and over again.

A whistle blew sharply. Everyone turned to look.

"Halpert!"

And then everyone turned to look at him.

"Put your clothes back on and get back to practice," Coach yelled.

The girls twittered. The guys guffawed. Jim turned four shades of red.

Then she spoke, flatly, firmly. "Just go."

"Pam, I…" he was helpless.

"Jim," she said. "Go."

He shook his head. "I'm really sorry."

Climbing to his feet, he pulled the soaked t-shirt back over his head and jogged back to practice, trying to avoid the stares.

Pam stared at the canvas.

"Shoot," she said aloud, then decided that just wasn't enough.

"Shit." That was better.

She heard air being sucked through teeth behind her. "Maybe," Oscar said, dropping down to his knees next to her, "maybe we can do the scenery kind of abstract and Jackson Pollack-like."

She fixed him with a dull stare.

"Yeah, maybe not," he agreed.

"My head hurts," Pam moaned, dropping it into her hands.

Oscar regarded her. "Because of the paint or because of…" his eyes trailed over to where the basketball team was running drills. Jim ran for a lay up, looking miserable.

Pam stared at him again.

"It's none of my business," Oscar went on, "but didn't you and Jim used to go out? What happened?"

She shrugged. "We were best friends, then we were boyfriend and girlfriend, then we didn't really know how to do that, then we didn't really know how to go back to just being friends again. And he got on the basketball team, and I started taking after school art and doing drama club, and I don't know, we just don't really hang out anymore."

She pressed her lips together, but her eyes filled with tears anyway. Oscar hesitated, then reached over and put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him and pretended she was crying over the ruined backdrop.

"Tuna!"

Jim sighed, regretting ever having branched out in his lunch.

"Andy, what are you doing here?" he asked. "You don't play basketball and you're not painting sets for the play."

Andy nodded enthusiastically. "Cheer squad," he said in confidential tones. "Thought I'd catch up on some moves."

"They don't practice today," Jim informed him. "Did you not notice? No cheerleaders."

"Huh." Andy nodded, then clapped Jim on the back. "Well, good playing out there, Tuna!"

Jim fixed him with an incredulous look. "Andy, I sucked. I missed four rebounds, I bombed the foul shot and I managed to not only throw the biggest lemon ever, but also ruin the Drama Club's set. It wasn't good at all."

Andy whistled. "Yeah," he agreed. "Pamela Anderson looked pretty pissed."

"Don't call her that," Jim snapped. "You know her name." He shook his sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes.

"Hey, Pamela Anderson is Ho-ot!" Andy sang the last word in two syllable falsetto. "Not that Beesly babe isn't kind of smokin' in that cappuccino grungy sort of way."

"She's not…" Jim started to say, and then just shut up. Andy wasn't listening.

"Hey," he went on, "maybe she'd like to take the 'Nard dog out for a walk, if you know what I mean…"

"Dear God," Jim prayed silently, "don't you have a lightening bolt you could throw at my head right now?"

Andy went on talking, oblivious to the fact that Jim wasn't paying attention. "Hey, Tunes, why'd you dump the Pamster? Was it 'cause she wouldn't give the sweet love?"

"Andy," Jim said, his jaw tight, "I need to shower."

Andy nodded. "Oh , yeah, totally bro, I read you." But he kept on walking next to Jim as he moved toward the locker room. "Gotta hit the showers, yeah. Gotta get the old field dirt off…"

Jim tried to push into the locker room, Andy right on his heels. He blocked the door.

"Hey, I think Mr. Ferris was looking for someone to start singing the National Anthem at all the games," he said.

Andy pumped his fist. "Score!" He ran off in the direction of the head coach's office. "Later 'gator."

With relief, Jim slipped into the locker room and leaned his head against the first row of metal lockers.

"Crap."


	12. Chapter 12

January, 1996

Ed Beesly pushed open the front door with a sigh of relief, dropping two suitcases on the floor as Joan and Pam rushed in behind him, Pam talking the whole time.

Well, talking was a polite way of putting it. Whining would be more accurate.

"Daddy," she pushed. "I have to practice. My birthday's next week and I have to get my license."

Ed sighed as Joan moved past them with a sympathetic look in Ed's direction, heading to check the answering machine in the kitchen.

He took a deep breath before responding. Pam was usually so calm, reserved, polite. Especially for a teenager. But when it came to learning to drive, she was determined to the point of pushy. And Ed just wasn't in the mood for pushy.

"Pam," he said firmly, with as much calm as he could muster. "It's dark out, the roads are bad, and we just got off a long plane ride. I'll take you out driving tomorrow, in the daylight, I promise."

Pam rolled her eyes. "But Daddy, I need to be able to drive at night and this was…"

"Pamela!" Ed's voice was sharp now. "We just spent a very pleasant two weeks in Hawaii, the first real vacation I've been able to take since we moved back to Scranton, and I'm not in the mood to be lectured by my teenage daughter the minute we…"

"Oh my God!"

Ed was cut off by the sound of Joan's gasp. With a quick look, Ed and Pam rushed into the kitchen, their argument tabled for the moment.

"Joan, what is it?"

Joan looked ashen. Pam was scared.

"Mommy?" she said in a small voice. Pam typically addressed her father as "Daddy" or "Dad," but had taken to saying "Mom" almost exclusively when she was nine. "Mommy" was reserved for special situations. Mostly when she was afraid or upset.

"Mommy," she said again, "what's wrong?"

Joan pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and pushed the play button on the answering machine. A man's voice, shaky and unsteady, played tinnily.

"Joan, Ed, it's uh, it's Bill. It's Tuesday. Listen, I know you're on vacation and I'm sorry to have you come home to this, but we got some bad news yesterday. Larissa went for her checkup and the doctor found a lump. In her breast. (choked sounds) It's, uh, it's cancer. Pretty advanced, they say. She's (more choked sounds) having a mastectomy on Saturday. They said that…"

The message was cut off as Ed pushed the stop button.

Pam was ashen.

Joan was crying.

"Today is Saturday," Pam said quietly.

Her parents looked at each other and nodded. Silently, they all put their coats back on.

Pam didn't even think of asking to drive.

Thirty minutes and a lot of convoluted directions later, the Beeslys walked into the oncology waiting area at Scranton General Hospital.

Bill Halpert sat alone, his elbows on his knees, his head resting on his hands.

"Bill," Joan intoned quietly. He looked up, then stood as Joan moved to embrace him.

"How's Larissa?" Ed asked.

Bill nodded, tired. "They brought her up from recovery about two hours ago. She's in and out."

"The boys?" Joan asked, urging Bill back into his chair.

Pam stood back and watched the adults talk.

"Pete's in to see her now," Bill sighed. "Jim…he won't go in. He's just been sitting in the cafeteria all day, since they took her in. I sent Pete to get him out and I tried too, but he just keeps saying he can't." He shook his head. "I don't know what…"

There was an audible click as the waiting room door shut.

The adults turned toward the sound.

Pam was gone.

She spotted him at a far table. There were four empty cans of grape soda, two towers of creamer and a pile of straws on the table in front of him. He was idly tying straw wrappers into a long chain.

It had been nearly six months since they'd really talked or spent any time together. Pam wasn't even sure why anymore. She wasn't mad at him. She didn't think he was mad at her. They'd just drifted apart.

They'd broken up in June after dating for most of freshman year. Jim had come over the night before he left for basketball camp in Baltimore, where his great-aunt and uncle lived.

"I think maybe we should go back to just being friends," he'd said. "I don't think we should go out anymore."

Pam had been so stunned that she'd just nodded dumbly and closed the door. She hadn't cried until an hour later.

Over the summer, Pam had spent some time with Kelly, who had just broken up with the fourth "love of her life."

"Jim's an asshole, Pam," Kelly had claimed. "All men are."

Somehow, she'd convinced herself that Kelly was right, and when Jim came home in August, she'd refused to speak to him.

By the time school started in September, she didn't really think Jim was an asshole anymore.

By October, she couldn't really even remember why they weren't even friends anymore.

By November, she was really missing him.

By December, she had accepted that maybe their friendship had just run its course.

It was January 6th and none of that mattered.

Silently, she slipped into the chair next to his.

He didn't look at her.

She didn't look at him.

Pam watched Jim's hands as they continued to knot together scraps of paper. After a while, they stilled.

She looked at the table. Jim looked at her. She didn't see him do it, but she felt it.

"I'm really scared," he whispered.

Pam looked up, into Jim's eyes. They were tired and she could see tears fighting at the corners. His jaw was set stubbornly, but he was about to crack. She knew it.

She knew him.

"I know," she whispered back.

Pam hesitated only a moment, then scooted her chair closer and reached out, drawing him into her without another word.

Jim accepted the hug, wrapping his arms around her and, finally letting himself go, though he would deny it if ever asked, cried on Pam's shoulder.

Not huge, snotty, sobbing crying, like a girl. Just a few tears, because his mom had cancer, and he was afraid she might die.

Pam felt his tears soaking into her shirt. She knew she was there to support him, but the combination of Jim crying, fear and sadness for Larissa , tiredness and being close to Jim again, even if it wouldn't last – the emotional mindbend of it all was too much. She started to cry too.

They held on to each other tighter.

Jim and Pam kneeled down in the chapel.

"Uh, hi God," Jim started hesitantly. "It's me, Jim. James Halpert. I, uh, I know it's been a while since I've really said a real prayer. I mean other than 'please God, let Pete get a face full of zits before his next date' or something… I don't know how to do this," he said, turning to Pam.

"Just say how you feel," she told him.

Jim swallowed.

"I feel really scared," he said. "I don't want my mom to die. I'm not always the best son, but I love her and I don't want to lose her. I don't know if my dad and Pete and I could take care of ourselves. I just, I really need you to make her okay. Okay?"

He didn't say anything else after that.

"Amen," Pam said quietly.

"Amen," Jim added.

Pam held Jim's hand as they walked down the hall toward his mother's room. As they approached the door of room 6012, a large nurse came out of it.

"Mrs. Halpert needs her rest," she informed them in a voice bordering on surly. "She's not up to visitors."

Jim was about to turn away, but Pam gripped his hand.

"He's her son," Pam informed the nurse petulantly.

The nurse nodded. She wasn't in the mood to argue with a couple of kids. "She needs her rest," she said, but kept moving past them, down the hall.

Jim looked at Pam. "You can do it," she said. She squeezed his hand once more, then let go, standing in the hallway as he pushed open the door.

She watched through the window as Jim approached the bed awkwardly, watched as Larissa said something, watched still as Jim leaned down carefully to kiss his mother's cheek.

She didn't hear her parents coming up behind her.

"Pammy?" her mother said softly. "Come on, we're going home now. Visiting hours are over."

Pam shook her head. "I'm waiting for Jim." She didn't take her eyes away from the room, but her tone of voice was clear.

Behind her, Ed nodded to Joan. "Come on," he said. They headed toward the cafeteria to get coffee for everyone.

They didn't need to tell Pam where they were going.

They knew where she would be.


	13. Chapter 13

October, 1997

"I'm telling you boys, Saturday night's the night. Homecoming, baby… it's all set…"

"Woohoo, gonna get her to give it up, eh?"

The cat calls and backslaps seemed to echo off the lockers and reverberate to the far row where Jim sat alone, his knees on his elbows, shirt in his hands, jeans unbuttoned.

He sucked air in through his teeth.

Fucking Roy Anderson talking about his Pam that way, like she was some number on a scoreboard.

"But she's not your Pam," the voice in his head told him. "She's Roy's. That's what she wants."

Jim fought the urge to kick the lockers in front of him. Sometimes it was confusing as hell, having a girl for a best friend.

It wasn't that he wanted to be the one dating her, or planning to have sex with her at homecoming (though the thought of Pam and Roy having sex did make him throw up in his mouth a little); he kind of felt like he wanted to arm wrestle with Pam, not kiss her. Not that kissing her was an unpleasant thought, it was just that he… well, he missed her, damn it. She'd had less time to hang out since she'd started dating Roy last Spring, and Jim often found himself lacking a partner in crime.

And of course, there was the matter of Roy simply not being good enough for her. He wasn't flat mean or anything, he was just a prototypical meathead jock.

Jim just thought Pam was too good for him. She deserved someone better. Someone like…

Well, he didn't know like whom. But he knew she deserved someone who…

"Hey Halpert!"

He looked up. "Hey, guys," he replied, trying to sound congenial as Roy and his friends, Lonny and Daryl paused by the bench he was sitting on, making their way to the showers.

"Hey Halpert," Roy said again, "you're pretty tight with Pam, yeah?"

He nodded. "Yeah, she's my best friend."

Jim knew as soon as the words were out of his mouth that he was screwed.

"Best friend," Lonny cracked. "What, you two have one of those heart necklaces? You have slumber parties and braid each other's hair, practice French kissing on your pillows?"

"My sister and her friend used to practice kissing on each other at slumber parties," Daryl chimed in.

Lonny gaped. "Dude, that must've been so hot."

Daryl fixed him with a smack upside the head. "Dude, that's my sister!"

"Guys, shut up," Roy yelled, silencing them. "Halpert, you do me a favor?"

"No," he imagined himself saying, "no, I have no desire to do you any favors." But Jim didn't like to cause trouble where there didn't need to be any, so he simply replied:

"Yeah, what's up?"

Roy snickered a little. "Since you and Pam are like, girlfriends or whatever, will you just let her know that, you know, I really like black lace panties?"

Someone who didn't say stuff like that in the locker room. That's the least Pam deserved.

Jim found himself fighting two simultaneous urges. The first was the more primal urge to pop Roy Anderson in the face and inform him, in no uncertain terms, that his meathead ways were just not acceptable when it came to Jim's best friend.

Yeah, best friend. That's what she was to him, slumber party jokes be damned.

The second instinct Jim fought was the one Pam called his wiseass button. The one that made him have to literally swallow to not tell Roy, in the calmest of tones, that he wasn't really comfortable hearing about what kind of panties Roy liked to wear, black lace or otherwise.

Instead, he just nodded innocuously. "Yeah, you know, if it comes up."

That seemed good enough, and the three guys continued on their way to the showers. Jim pulled his shirt over his head and, slinging his backpack on to one shoulder, headed toward the door, wondering, incredulously, exactly how Roy had imagined one would approach such a topic with one's closest female friend.

"Hey, Pam, you got a sec? Cool, yeah, I just want to talk to you about your panties…"

"You're into her. You want Pam."

Jim sighed, propping his feet up on his headboard and mentally kicking himself in the ass for calling his brother at college in the first place."

"Pete," he sighed. "Not everything is about sex. She's my…"

"Best friend," Pete interrupted, "I know, you've said so. But if you're just friends, why are you so bent out of shape about Roy Anderson wanting to have sex with her?"

Jim seethed. "It's just…you should have heard how he was talking about it, like she was some conquest or something."

Pete laughed. "Jim, you're in high school. Sex is a conquest. Come on, you can't tell me it isn't the same for you.

Silence.

"Oh my god," Pete realized, sounding like he was holding in laughter. "Jimmy, are you a virgin?"

"Blow me," Jim replied eloquently.

This time Pete didn't even try to hold in the laughter. "Yeah, no," he told his brother, "but more importantly, has anybody?"

Jim kicked the headboard in frustration. "Why the fuck do I talk to you?" he wondered aloud. "Why do I ask you shit?"

"Alright, alright." He could see Pete's hands in the air. "I'm sorry. What do you want me to tell you?"

Jim pushed a hand through his thick hair. "I don't know, Pete," he nearly whined. "Tell me how to tell her that Roy's a dick and she shouldn't date him."

"Maybe he's not a dick to her," Pete said quietly.

Jim scoffed. "Did you not hear…"

"Yeah, black lace panties, I know," Pete sighed. "Guy's got good taste, at least."

"Are you adopted?"

Pete sighed. "Look, here's the thing, Jimmy. If you really think he's bad for her, tell her, but she might not listen. And more than that, she might not be too happy with you for saying so in the first place. So I gotta ask, is it about her or is it about you? Because you need to know that."

Jim didn't say a word.

Pete called out to him through the phone. "Hey, Jim? Jimmy?"

Jim finally answered his brother's question.

"I have no idea."


	14. Chapter 14

June 1998

"I am the God of Sandwich," Jim announced proudly to the empty space. "The hell with the Earl; I rule Sandwich Land."

He flopped down on the couch, turned on the TV, and proceeded to shove a good portion of his work of art – three kinds of meat, four types of cheese, lettuce, tomato, mustard and mayo between two thick slabs of pumpernickel – into his always-ravenous 18-year-old mouth.

He'd no sooner bitten, jaw already aching, into the behemoth, when the phone rang. Against his better judgment, Jim picked up the receiver.

"Ewwo?" He grunted, pieces of ham and provolone falling out of his mouth.

"Jim?" Her voice was small, distraught.

"Puh?" A sliver of cheddar and some tomato seeds hit his shirt.

"Yeah, it's me," she said, sounding tired.

"Wah fuh?" he asked, concerned, as he tried to work his jaw faster. He wiped the turkey off his chin and on to his jeans.

Pam sighed. "Roy's brother got tickets to an Eagles game tonight. Two tickets. One for Roy, one for Kenny." She sucked in air through her teeth, and Jim chewed faster, knowing the waterworks were going to start soon. "And I'm sitting here like an idiot, with my hair done, about to put on the stupid prom dress my mom and I bought, and Roy's on his way to Philadelphia with his brother!"

On "brother" her voice cracked, and Jim spit out the chewed up lump into the sink.

"Put on your dress and sit tight," he said. "I'll be there in an hour."

He could almost see her shaking her head on the other end of the phone. "Jim, I didn't… you don't have to do that," she said, shyly.

He shook his head right back at her. "I'm doing it, Beesly," he insisted. "Besides, now you owe me. I want to see some of those famous dance moves tonight."

She laughed. "I'm such a dorky dancer."

"I know," he smirked. "It's very cute." Was that flirty? Was he flirting with Pam? Jim shook his head. "One hour, Beesly. Be there or be square."

Pam laughed. "Dork," she said affectionately.

"You too," he replied.

Pam squeezed the back of the earring tight on to her earlobe. The pearl studs with the tiny diamonds were her mother's favorite, and on loan for the night.

The doorbell rang.

Pam could hear her mother downstairs, fussing over Jim and calling for her. She didn't want to admit it, but she felt a tiny fluttering in her stomach, maybe something almost… butterfly-like. A little one. Tiny. Baby butterfly.

She smoothed her dress, gave herself one last look in the mirror and headed downstairs.

Joan was in the midst of scolding Jim for not bringing his parents with him when he caught sight of Pam coming down the steps. Immediately, Jim's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, his eyes went bright, and his mouth opened and shut at the same time as he broke out into a grin, in a way that made him look like a confused and happy large mouth bass.

"Wow," he said. "Just, wow, Beesly."

Pam blushed, smoothing down her periwinkle dress. "Shut up."

He shook his head. "No. You look so beautiful. Roy has no idea what he's missing."

She tensed at the mention of Roy; she was still mad at him, but somehow wasn't really upset that he wasn't there. It was…she shook it off as her mother ran back into the room, wielding her camera.

She could deal with Backstreet Boys and had even lip-synched "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing" dramatically as Jim dipped and twirled her, but when the opening strains of "My Heart Will Go On" sounded from the speakers at the DJ booth, she grabbed his hand.

"That's it," she declared. "We're officially leaving."

He let her drag him out of the ballroom and into the lobby of the Scranton Radisson.

"So, it's only ten," he said, looking at his watch. "Did you want to go somewhere? Do you have a curfew tonight?"

She shook her head. "My mom said she trusts me," Pam told him, raising an eyebrow.

"Ooooh!" He yelped. "That pretty much guarantees you're not going to do anything bad. Go Joan."

Pam pursed her lips. "Actually…" she reached into her clutch and pulled out a plastic card. She wiggled her eyebrows. "You want to check out a room?"

"Where did?"

She shrugged. "Roy got it last week," she said. "He asked me to hide the key. Good thing, right?" She tilted her head to the elevator.

"Yeah, good thing," Jim echoed, as he followed Pam, trying like hell not to think about the implications of Roy getting a hotel room.

"Room service, booze or porn?"

Jim started. "Excuse me?" he said, lifting his eyebrows bemusedly at the girl standing beside him in the hotel room, her head tilted, lips slightly pursed, as she contemplated her options.

Pam started to pace in front of him. "Let me ask you, Jim," she said, trying so hard to sound serious he had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing, "have you ever been in a hotel room without your parents?" She was practically staring him down. It was…okay, it was really fucking cute.

"What's gotten into you, Beesly?" he asked affectionately.

"Answer the question, Jim," she replied, pointing at him.

He laughed, not trying to hold it in this time. "Yes ma'am," he said. "Yes, I've been in a hotel room without my parents."

It was her turn to raise eyebrows now. "When they weren't in the adjoining room, right next to you and Pete?"

He quirked a smile. "No," he said. "If that doesn't count, then no, I haven't been."

"And so," she continued, sucking in her cheeks and squinting slightly to take on the mantel of a stern schoolmarm, "what is it that teenagers who are in hotel rooms without their parents do?"

"Fuck?" Well, they do!

"Jim!" Pam squealed, turning red.

"Well, they do!"

She threw a pen, the closest moveable object, at him. It bounced off his torso and fell uselessly to the floor.

"You know that's not what I meant." She was still blushing and now, so was he, maybe because she was, or maybe because he had opened up a particular barrel of monkeys he wasn't sure he wanted open.

Jim and Pam had reclaimed the friendship they'd briefly let become entangled in the drama, the senselessness, the…bullshit of early adolescence, but there were still some things they didn't talk about.

Maybe it was in deference to their shared childhood, or the rarely mentioned time they spent as clumsy sweethearts. Maybe it was because it would force them to acknowledge the boy-girl thing, and they generally navigated the boy-girl thing pretty well. Maybe it was a lot of things, but Jim and Pam almost never talked about sex.

Well, they talked about sex, of course. But it was all in hypothetical. Pop culture references, secretly slandering classmates, an afternoon spent doubled over in laughter and horror upon discovering some graphic emails Jim's older brother had had the poor judgment to print out and leave in the room he'd vacated when he'd left for college. But they never talked about their own sex lives.

Jim had taken every step possible to avoid hearing Roy talk about Pam in the locker room – keeping his Discman in his backpack and shoving his earbuds in as soon as gym class was over, jogging home after practice

Pam wasn't wholly sure if Jim was still a virgin or not. She knew there was talk of things getting kind of wild at away games. She knew the cheerleaders all thought he was cute. And there was that conversation she'd overheard in the girls' room, when Meredith Rogers and Hayley Grieff were giggling over the fact that five boys had touched both of their breasts. Jim Halpert had been mentioned between David Crew and Ted Griffith. She'd turned red and never asked him about it.

So when Jim rightfully pointed out that teenagers left to their own devices in hotel rooms are liable to, well, to fuck, it was kind of like shining a spotlight on that invisible line they'd drawn.

Jim kicked the pen at his feet.

"I know," he said, then looked at her with a half grin on his face. "But you left that one wide open, Beesly."

She nodded, concurring. "Sorry."

He narrowed his eyes. "So I'm thinking," he said, drawing the words out. "Room service first. Then booze."

"Then porn?" she asked.

Jim shook his head. "Pervert," he said, admiringly as he reached for the room service menu.

"It's going to be weird in the fall," Pam said, setting her forkful of omelet down on the plate. "With me in Philly and you in Maryland."

Jim nodded, chewing thoughtfully on his waffle. "It will be," he agreed. "But it's not too far away. We'll visit."

"Wait, I'm the first boy you ever kissed?"

Pam picked up the silver high heel sitting on the bed next to her and whacked his arm with it.

"You knew that, Jim Halpert," she admonished him. "You know it and you just wanted to hear me say it again because it's some sort of ego boost for you."

He grinned. "Yeah, I know."

"I think I'm going to break up with Roy," Pam said quietly, staring at the bubbles in her second vodka and Sprite.

"Why?" Jim asked his rum and Coke, fighting the urge to yell out gratitude to higher powers for Pam finally coming to her senses.

She shrugged. "He's an ass. And he ditched me on prom night." She looked right at him. "And he doesn't make me laugh."

He gulped down more of his drink. "I think you should too," he agreed.

"I've never….had cyber sex," Jim drawled.

They laughed at they both drank from the miniature liquor bottles in their hands.

"I've never… had sex sex," Pam replied. They regarded each other curiously as neither one drank.

"You mean you and Roy?" Jim asked, remembering locker room talk about black lace panties and "double fist tits" with a shudder.

She shrugged, her inhibitions lowered by alcohol. "We tried, a few times," she admitted. "But he always got…impatient… before it actually happened."

Her meaning hit him and he burst out laughing. "You mean he…?" Jim gasped.

Pam tried to look indignant. "It's not funny!" she scolded.

He wiped tears from his eyes. "You're right," he agreed. "It's not funny. It's fucking hilarious."

She walloped him again, but she was chuckling too. They shifted so they were both lying on their stomachs across the bed. "And what about you, stud?" she asked, turning the attention to him. "I see how girls check out your ass during basketball games. And I know you drove Julie Vogel home from Kelly Kapoor's party a couple weeks ago." She wiggled her eyebrows at him.

"She was drunk," Jim protested. "Was I supposed to say no when she asked for a ride?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "She was drinking Strawberry Mystic out of a Bartles & Jaymes bottle," she informed him. "She just wanted to get you alone."

He blushed, caught. "She gave me a hand job in the car. And I fingered her and sucked her tits."

"Overshare," Pam muttered, but then looked at him curiously. "Was it a good hand job?"

He looked up, surprised. Did she really want to know? He looked over to see Pam gazing at him, the question in her eyes.

"It was all right," he said. "A little static. I've had better."

She contemplated this and nodded.

"I never planned to graduate high school a virgin," she announced.

Jim held out his mini-bottle and they toasted with a tiny clink, then drained what was left in the bottles.

"Are we supposed to fuck now?" Pam asked, sounding calm and innocent, her eyes glassy as she stared at him, lying facing each other on their sides.

Jim nodded, feeling his cheek rub against the sleeve of the arm he was lying on. "I think so."

She knit her eyebrows, contemplating him. "I think," she said carefully, as if not entirely sure of the words on her tongue, "I think that would be weird. We used to pee in the bathtub together"

He nodded. "I haven't peed in the bathtub in at least a year," he assured her, his tongue feeling just a bit too big for his mouth.

She laughed, then gazed at him again, her lips quirking. "Want to kiss?" she asked, as if she was asking him if he wanted to order pizza. "Or, you know, we could watch porn."

He chuckled, letting the options slosh around in his head. She regarded him through mildly bored eyes.

"Nah," he said, shaking his head a little. "No, let's kiss."

"Okay."

He reached out and touched her waist, helping her scoot across the space between them until they were just inches apart and loosely in each other's arms. Then they closed the space between them as they closed their eyes.

And then they were kissing.

And it wasn't that weird.


	15. Chapter 15

January, 1999

"So then he was like, 'this is the decade of the brain, you should all know. It's almost over. Somebody wasted a lot of tax dollars to turn this into the decade of the brain.'"

Pam leaned back on her extra long twin bed and traced her fingers over the pattern in her yellow and blue flowered comforter, listening to Jim laugh.

"Seriously?" he asked. "This is your professor?" He tilted the legs of his desk chair off the floor, tilting back and propping his feet up on the desk. "Saying things like 'mindfuck' and 'mental masturbatory exercise'?" He pursed his lips. "Is that anything like manual masturbatory exercises?" He wiggled his eyebrows lewdly.

"Jim Halpert, stop making that perverted face," Pam admonished, with a shake of the head. She loved Jim to death but he was such a boy sometimes. At least he wasn't as bad as some other boys who would remain nameless.

At her remark, Jim pulled the phone from his ear and stared questioningly at it.

"Pam, you can't even see my face," he countered. "Unless you can. Pam, did you set up a hidden camera in here when you visited last semester?"

She snorted in his ear. "I think that roommate of yours is rubbing off on you. Speaking of which, how is the sexy beet man?"

Despite the lack of visual access, Jim tilted forward in his chair and mimed vomiting on the floor, complete with sound effects for Pam's benefit.

"Please," he implored. "Please don't ever use those words to describe him again."

"Oh, Dwight," she cooed swoonily. "Teasing me like that with your scalp. That middle part is just so….sensual. Ohhh…Dwight, your stories about your Gestapo grandparents are so romantic…."

The door to the room swung open and Jim's roommate stormed in, his eyes beady beneath his glasses, his shoulders tense under the mustard colored t-shirt he wore. In a flash, Jim hit the speaker button on the phone.

"Oooh, Dwight," Pam's voice filled the room and the aforementioned sexy beet man, who in Jim's humble opinion was neither sexy nor manly, pivoted wildly.

"What is that?" he demanded.

Jim bit the insides of his cheeks, forcing nonchalance.

"Ohhhh, Dwight," Pam moaned again, really milking it now. "Your samurai sword is so…big. It's just so…long…"

Dwight narrowed his eyes. "Is that Patricia?"

"Pamela, Dwight," Jim corrected. "Pam. Not Patricia."

Pam moaned again and Jim could about hear her licking her lips. He wished she was here. Pam could keep a straight face better than anyone.

"Jim," she scolded. "Dwight can call me anything he wants. As long as he tells me more about…bear trapping."

His roommate raised a thick eyebrow. "You see, Jim? Even your girlfriend finds me more appealing than she finds you. Clearly you are an inferior male."

Jim nodded resolutely. "You're right, Dwight. You're right. And…" he continued slyly, "I told you before, Pam's not my girlfriend. In fact, why don't you pay her a visit this weekend? Temple University, Hardwick Hall, Room 3..."

"You finish that sentence, I'll tell your mother who really puked on her Oriental rug over Christmas!" Pam screamed.

Jim couldn't hold it in any longer and burst out laughing, bending over at the waist, his guffaws assaulting Pam's ears through the phone.

"Busted, Beesly!" he cried. "I knew you couldn't last."

"Suck it, Halpert," she retorted. "That was dirty play."

Dwight snorted. "Juveniles. I don't have time for your childish antics. I'm off to Dungeons and Dragons."

Jim laughed harder, Pam joining in this time. "You're going to go play pretend and we're immature?" she asked over the speaker.

Jim managed to stop his laughter and sucked in a breath.

"Dungeons and Dragons," Dwight began, puffing up his chest, "is…"

Jim hit the speaker button again, and instantly recomposed his face. "So, Pam," he said casually, turning away from his roommate, "tell me about your Poetry of the Romantic Era class."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dwight turning an odd shade of puce.

"Dungeons and Dragons," he began again, as Jim held up a sharp hand.

"Dwight!" He snapped. "I'm trying to have an intellectual discussion here. I'm sorry, Pam, you were comparing Coleridge and Wordsworth?"

With a frustrated, sputtering grunt, Dwight stormed out much in the way he stormed in, and Pam let out a low whistle in Jim's ear.

"Coleridge and Wordsworth, Halpert?" she asked. "I'm impressed. How did you know that?"

He shook his head, propping his feet up again. "I'm not a complete illiterate, Pam," he reminded her. "I do read some."

"Jim, Archie comics do not count as reading."

"Please," he scoffed. "I'm a man. I haven't read Archie comics in years."

"Yeah, like two," she laughed. "And okay, Hustler doesn't count as reading either."

He smirked. "Again, I say, please." He could hear her roll her eyes.

"Right," she mused sardonically. "Jim Halpert is far too much of a gentleman for Hustler. You must sit around reading the Wall Street Journal and The New Yorker."

"Penthouse."

Pam could barely hear Jim's mumblings, but she was pretty sure she heard him right. Just in case though, she needed him to say it again. Also, she knew he was blushing, so she needed him to say it again.

"I'm sorry, Jim," she said primly. "I couldn't hear you. What was that?" She leaned her head back on the pillow and propped her feet up on the wall.

Jim groaned. "You heard me."

She shook her head. "No, no, please."

Pulling himself out of the chair, Jim shot her a dirty look through the phone. "Penthouse, Pamela." He threw himself on his bed and lay down, his feet hanging over the edge of the extra long twin. "Pete sent me a subscription for my birthday."

He held the phone from his ear as her whistle pierced through the receiver.

"Class act, your brother," Pam remarked wryly. "How does he get a woman to date him?"

This was a mystery to Jim as well, how his brother had managed to have a girlfriend, and a sexy blonde girlfriend at that, for nearly three years now. She wasn't Jim's type, he preferred more natural beauty, but there was no denying Pete had snagged a hottie.

"I have no clue," he answered, shaking his head. "Audrina must have self-esteem issues."

"Yeah," Pam agreed. "Being a 5 foot 8 inch magna cum laude with D cups and hair that's never heard the word 'frizz' has to be so difficult. It's a wonder us mediocre girls aren't offing ourselves hourly." Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she pushed her hand through her unruly curls.

Jim shifted. He hated when she talked like this. Didn't Pam know that she was so much prettier than the girls who took hours perfecting their look? Sure, they were nice to ogle for a while, but they just looked…fake and untouchable. Pam was just the opposite.

"Come on, Beesly," he chided. "You know you're a knockout."

She pursed her lips and pressed her feet into the mattress with frustration, not knowing where this sudden attack of self-pity had come from.

"Knockout," he'd said. Stupid sweet Penthouse-reading Jim, lying to her like that.

"Oh yeah," she drawled. "Knockout. That's why I haven't had a date since freshman orientation, because all the guys are so knocked out by me, they're unconscious."

He shook his head. "I thought you were seeing that guy in the fall. What's his name, the one in your intro biz class last semester?"

She groaned. "Who, Ryan? No, that was just, like, a pillow pals thing."

"Pillow pals?"

"You know," she elaborated. "Friends with benefits. Fuck buddies."

"Yeah, I got it," he snapped.

"Not even fuck buddies," she went on, "because, you know, the queen virgin abides." Pam rolled her eyes. "Anyway," she said, "got back to school after break, never heard from him again, the hell with it. He was short and annoying." She sniffed with finality. "What about you?"

"What about me?" Jim asked, his eyebrows lifting.

"You got anyone special?"

"Special?" he scoffed. "Since I saw you at home three weeks ago and told you every detail of my life? No, Pam, no I haven't managed to find the future Mrs. Jim Halpert lurking about College Park in that interval, I'm sorry to tell you."

"You need to be spanked," she informed him. "Let me rephrase. Have you gotten any recently?"

He shrugged. "Eh. There was a late night in the newsroom last week. Amy the copyeditor and too much Labatt."

Pam flipped over on her stomach. "What? I was sort of kidding. But, you had sex last week? Or, more specifically, you had sex? Jim, we had a deal!"

Jim shook his head. "No sex, not even close," he said, laughing. "We just made out. I promise," he said, holding up his hand in vow, "when I do have sex, you'll be the first to know." He smirked. "I'll call you during, in fact. I'll be inside a girl and I'll…"

"God, stop, vomiting," Pam interrupted him. "Just, you know, call me during the cigarette."

Jim snorted. "Don't you know smoking's bad for you, Beesly?"

"So's unprotected sex," she informed. "So wear a condom, Jim."

He nodded. "Condoms are good."

"They prevent bad things from happening," Pam recited.

"Yeah," Jim retorted. "Like us."

Pam cracked up. Jim smiled at the sound of her laughing.

"Love ya, Halpert," she said, affectionately.

He grinned. "Back at you, Beesly."

They sat with their respective phones to their ears, in warm silence, for a minute.

"So you know you have to find a way to get Dwight caught in public with one of those Penthouses, right?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yeah. I'm thinking inside his Star Wars Encyclopedia."


	16. Chapter 16

_March, 2000_

_Temple University_

"_All I'm saying is if I ever start referring to these as the best years of life, remind me to kill myself." _

"_Best. Movie. Ever," Pam announced as she and Jim chorused one of many beloved lines from "Dazed and Confused," one of the cinematic masterpieces of their adolescence. _

_Jim nodded in agreement, holding up his grape soda can for Pam to bump hers with. ("No chance, Jim, you cannot bring beer in here. If my suitemate sees, she'll report us to the R.A. And to Jesus. Not in that order," Pam had informed him when he'd offered to bring along some Labatt or Sam Adams on his visit). _

_It had started pouring mere hours after Jim's arrival to Temple University, where Pam had recently declared a major in art history, with a double minor in studio art and business. Rather than braving the rain, the two of them had holed up in Pam's room, ordered a pizza, raided the vending machine and settled in for an afternoon of beloved 90s movies. _

_A sharp knock came on the door. _

"_Pamela," an even sharper voice called. "A man is here to deliver a pepperoni and mushroom pizza, and as I do not eat pepperoni, I can only assume the delivery is for you."_

_Jim's eyebrows shot to his hairline. Pam pursed her lips, suppressing a giggle. _

"_See?" she mouthed to him. Out loud, she called, "Thank you, Angela. I'll be right there."_

_She accepted the twenty Jim held out and walked into the common room she shared with her petite, severe suitemate. _

"_Where's the pizza guy?" she asked. _

_Angela, who was standing with her arms crossed by the door, lifted an eyebrow. _

"_In the hallway," she said evenly. "I wasn't going to let a strange gentlemen in here." _

_Pam was pretty sure Angela had been raised by the Amish. It occurred to her for a moment that she would probably be a good match for Jim's old roommate, Dwight. Or for a nunnery. Sister Angela sounded pretty good, actually. _

_Pam paid for her pizza and was about to head back into her room, when Angela blocked her path. _

"_Yes, Angela?"_

_The small, blonde girl, her pink blouse buttoned all the way up, cleared her throat. _

"_Pam," she began, keeping her voice low, as the door to Pam's bedroom was ajar. "If your gentleman caller -" _

"_He's not my gentleman caller," Pam interrupted. "He's my friend whom I've known since I was an infant." _

_Angela pursed her lips. "Fine then," she intoned. "If your…friend… is going to stay the night, don't you think he ought to sleep in the common room? Or better yet, perhaps the resident advisor can find a male student on one of the coed floors to host him?" Pam raised an eyebrow. "It's just not…appropriate…"_

_Pam wanted to know whose propriety Angela was concerned with, but she kept a civil tongue. While her roommate was nosy, severe and judgmental, she wasn't actually a malicious person. And, Pam figured, she had to live with Angela. May as well try to keep the peace. _

"_Angela," she said calmly. "I figured you wouldn't want a man sleeping in the common area in case you have to leave the room in the night." She fought back a smirk and raised her voice. "And Jim can't stay with a stranger. He has social anxiety disorder. If he's here and I'm not with him, he'll cry and wet his pants." _

_Before Angela could get a word in, Pam continued, her tone soft and sweet again. "But don't worry," she informed her suitemate. "He sleeps on the floor. We wouldn't want to be improper, right?" _

_With a lift of the eyebrow, she knew she had won. Angela sighed. _

"_Well, I suppose…"_

"_Great!" Pam interrupted brightly. "Would you like a slice of pizza?"_

_Angela rolled her eyes. "Pam, I have told you before, I am a vegetarian." _

_Angela had told Pam that. Many, many times. But for some reason, unbeknownst to Pam, offering Angela a bite of a bacon cheeseburger or a slice of pepperoni pizza was highly amusing._

"_Right!" Pam said, pretending to remember. "Well, you could pick off the pepperoni." She knew this idea would provoke an entertaining response. _

"_No, thank you," Angela replied tightly. "It would still be tainted by the meat residue." _

_Pam prayed that Jim had heard Angela. She fought to keep a straight face._

"_Well, all right," she said. "I guess I'll be going now. Good night, Angela." _

"_Good evening, Pam."_

_Bearing the pizza box, Pam scurried back into her room and quickly shut the door, setting the box on her desk, before she dove on the bed, stuffing the edge of the pillow in her mouth and bleating with laughter. _

_Next to her, Jim was practically biting her shoulder to keep from being heard. _

"_Meat residue?" he stage whispered. _

_Pam laughed harder. "I know!" _

"_Meat residue?" He made one of his perplexed "Jim" faces, and she was pretty sure he'd been a Muppet in a past life. _

_Her whole body shook. "Jim, stop, you're going to make me pee!" _

_He wiggled his eyebrows. "Well, in that case…" he grabbed her around the waist and flipped her over on the floral comforter. With a wicked look, he commenced tickling her as she squirmed wildly beneath him. _

"_Jim!" she cried, keeping her voice low enough to not arouse Angela's attentions. "Stop!" _

_When he didn't desist, she brought her knee up and bumped his upper thigh. She didn't knock him in the nether regions, but it was close enough to make him release her. _

"_Careful there, Beesly," he warned. _

_Pam smirked. _

"_Oh, and speaking of peeing," Jim said, leaning back against the pillow next to Pam, "what's this about me wetting my pants?" _

_She laughed and shifted around, trying to get more room on the twin bed. "My god, you're a giant," she complained, draping half her body over Jim's and snuggling into his chest._

_Jim wrapped his arms around Pam and ducked his head down, breathing in. _

"_Mmmm, this feels nice," he mumbled into her hair. _

_She closed her eyes, resting her head against Jim's chest. "Yeah," she breathed. _

_They lay quietly, limbs intertwined, just breathing. Pam felt Jim's chest move up and down beneath her cheek. Jim felt Pam's ribs expand and contract under his arms. _

_As minutes passed, Pam felt herself starting to drift off. _

_Jim's voice broke the comfortable silence. "Hey Pam?"_

"_Hmmm?" she murmured sleepily, not opening her eyes._

"_Do you think we should introduce Angela to Dwight?" _

_Suddenly, she was wide awake again. And positively snorting with laughter. _

"_So, Karen, huh?" Pam teased later that night. She was propped up on her side in bed, peering down at Jim, who was situated amongst some spare blankets and a body pillow on the floor. _

"_Yeah," he replied. "Karen Fillipelli." _

"_Italian?"_

"_I guess," Jim said, shrugging. "She's in my History of British Rock class." _

"_What's she like?" Pam asked. _

_He thought for a minute. "Pretty. Really pretty. Dark hair, nice eyes. Funny. Smart. She gives me a hard time. You'd like her." _

_Pam nodded in the dark. "Yeah," she agreed brightly, too brightly maybe. "So you hit that yet, Halpert?" _

_Jim guffawed. "Did I 'hit that'? No, no, Pam, I have not remotely 'hit that'. I have come nowhere close to 'hitting that'. Hell, I've barely spoken to her outside of class." _

"_Well, what are you afraid of?" she demanded. _

"_Rejection," he said matter-of-factly. "Laughter. Hers. Tears. Mine. Humiliation. Also mine." _

"_Wimp. You," Pam mimicked. _

_Jim rolled his eyes. "Enough about my pathetic lack of dating life," he announced. "What about you? Fill me in. Anyone you haven't made sleep on the floor?" _

_Pam mumbled something indistinctive, but Jim was fairly certain he recognized one syllable._

"_I'm sorry, who?" he asked. _

_She sighed in the dark. "Roy," she answered. "Just Roy." _

_That's what he thought she'd said. What the hell?_

"_Roy?" Jim asked sharply. "Dumb jock high school boyfriend, Roy?"_

"_He's not a -" _

"_Pam, come on!" He wasn't sure why he was so irritated to learn about Pam's tryst, but something about Roy just rubbed him the wrong way, still._

"_Okay, fine," she agreed, "he's a dumb jock, but he's not a bad guy." What the hell had crawled up Jim's panties anyway? He was lusting after beautiful Italian girls. What did he care? _

"_Oh yeah," Jim muttered sarcastically. "He's a prince." _

"_What the hell crawled up your panties?" Pam demanded. _

_Jim scoffed. "Nothing 'crawled up my panties,'" he mimicked. "I just don't like how he treated you." _

_Pam knew she should be grateful for his protectiveness, no matter how much of a fucking…guy Jim was being in his expression of it, but frankly, he was just pissing her off. _

"_Well, that's sweet of you and all," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "but I'm a big girl, Jim. I can take care of myself." _

"_Pam, I-"_

"_Besides," she pressed on. "It's not like I'm getting back together with him. It was one night. He was in Philly for one of Kenny's friends' bachelor parties and he called me. I haven't heard from him since."_

_A beat. Silence. And then:_

"_Did you sleep with him?" Jim asked. He wasn't sure what he expected the answer to be. _

_Pam sucked in air through her teeth. "I really don't think that's any of your business, Jim," she informed him tightly. _

"_Pam, come on, I-"_

"_Good night, Jim." _

"_Pam-"_

"_Good night," she repeated primly. _

_It was a lost cause. He knew it. Pam could be incredibly stubborn. "Good night," he groaned._

_Jim adjusted his body, trying to get comfortable on the hard floor, and breathed through the tension in the small room, watching the shadows pass on the walls. _

"_Fuck."_


	17. Chapter 17

July 4, 2001

Scranton, PA

With all the patience of the 21-year-old he was, Jim gave up his half-hearted search for a opener and jammed the beer bottle in his mouth, popping the cap off between his back molars the way his friend Mark had showed him. Of course, his mother would have a royal fit if she saw him do that. So he'd checked around him beforehand. Fortunately, Larissa was occupied inside for the moment.

Jim tipped his head back for a long drink.

"My god, Jim Halpert."

At the sound of his name, he started, choking and sputtering a bit on the mouthful of Blue Moon.

"Aunt Elyse!" He exclaimed, leaning down to give the tiny woman a hug. "Hey! When did you get here?"

"Just a few minutes ago," she said. "Would you look at you? I swear, Jimmy, you get more handsome every time I see you. You must be beating the girls off with a stick. Or the boys, whatever blows your dress up, darlin'"

Jim laughed. "Sorry, Aunt Elyse, not a team player here. Just girls for me."

Elyse nodded, leaning in toward him. "I like boobs too," she said in a loud whisper.

Guffawing, he put his arm around her. "You rock," he informed her. "Where's Aunt Pam?"

She nodded across the Beesly's lawn. "Over there, grilling Pammy's new boyfriend." Her voice dropped again. "Gotta tell you, Jimmy, that one doesn't look like he's got a lot in the sac, if you know what I mean." Her not-at-all subtle nod toward Jim's crotch made it impossible for him to not know what she meant.

"Jesus, Elyse!" He laughed, bright red.

Elyse and Pam had been together for 25 years. Pam and Joan had grown up together, and Jim had known them both since he was two. Joan had even named her Pam after her childhood friend.

Jim knew he could count on two things when Pam and Elyse came to visit. First, a lot of bawdy humor. Elyse, all 5 foot nothing, 101 pounds and 60 years of her, could joke about sex as well as any of Jim's intramural basketball buddies at school. Second, that he and Pam - no, Pammy today - would be relegated back to childhood nicknames. No matter how old they got, he knew they would always be Jimmy and Pammy.

"Holy…" Jim gasped, catching his breath. "Oh my… what the hell?"

Pam smirked. "Oh, come now, James. I'm sure she's a lovely lady, once you get to know her."

"As long as you don't light any matches near her," spoke up their companion.

Jim laughed and clapped him on the back, but in a genuinely friendly way, not the "hey, look, we're bonding as dudes" way that just really pissed Pam off.

She'd been a little nervous about inviting Toby to the 4th of July cookout her family and the Halperts shared every year. They'd met in the spring when she'd taken a job at a movie theater by campus to make some extra cash. He worked the ticket booth at the same time she worked at the concession stand, and they'd started talking over brooms and dustpans when he helped her sweep popcorn kernels and Sour Patch kids off cinema floors. He was from Dunmore, just ten minutes from Scranton, and had actually gone to a rival high school.

He was a few years older and the first guy she'd really dated since Roy, though he couldn't be more different. Where Roy was loud, confident and, well, kind of dumb, Toby was soft-spoken, smart and shy. Meek, even. Sometimes she wished he'd grow a pair. "Whatever you want" could be tiresome to hear after a while.

But despite his faults, if being too nice and accommodating was really a fault, Toby was a good guy and Pam found herself liking him. A lot. So she was glad to see that he and Jim seemed to be getting along.

They peeked around the corner of the house at Pete and his new girlfriend with the red, red hair and the short, short tube dress.

"Hey, do you guys think- oh god, my eyes!" Pam cried in a whisper, burying her face in Toby's shoulder as Meredith bent over to fix her flip flip, revealing an expanse of pale white rear and, god help her, some lighter red hair.

"Where's the can?" she asked loudly.

Jim groaned loudly. "Jesus Christ, Pete."

"Your mother looks like she's about to drop dead," Toby informed Jim.

"Oh, poor Larissa," moaned Pam. "And poor Pete."

The guys stared at her.

"Poor Pete?" Jim asked.

"Pam, I don't mean to sound rude, but that girl is a disaster," Toby intoned quietly.

She nodded in agreement. "No, I know," she said, "but ever since Audrina left him, he's been going through this parade of train wrecks. Jim, remember that girl he was hanging around at Christmas?"

He sighed. "Yeah, I'm not entirely certain she was out of high school," he said, "but this one makes that one look like Miss America. I can't believe my brother has sunk so low as to sleep with…what the hell is her name again?"

"Meredith," Toby replied, nodding at the redhead who had reemerged from the house and was now standing by Ed at the grill, scratching her underarm. "Maybe they're not sleeping together?"

Jim and Pam shook their heads. "No way," Pam said. "He's definitely sleeping with her."

Jim nodded. "Yep."

"How do you…" Toby looked perplexed. "How can you tell?"

Pam shrugged. "We know Pete," she said, gesturing between herself and Jim.

Jim saw a flash of envy in Toby's eyes, hearing Pam refer to she and Jim as "we." He felt bad for a second, but it wasn't like Toby has anything to be jealous of. Not really. There was just… a lot of history. Yeah, years and years of history.

But sometimes years and years of history lead to moments of odd tension. Like this one. Fortunately, Jim was well-versed at breaking up tension.

"All I'm saying," he began, "is you couldn't pay me to sleep with that one. And you could probably get me to have sex with a goat for a case of beer and a hundred bucks."

Pam and Toby stared at him with matching sets of raised eyebrows and for a minute it was Jim's turn to feel left out. Also, really awkward.

Finally, Pam blessedly broke the silence. "Does Karen know about your goat fetish?" she smirked.

"At least," Toby muttered, so low they could barely hear him, "at least we know she's definitely a female." He was bright, bright red in the face.

"I'm sorry," Pam said with a grin, clutching his arm. "What was that?"

"Toby," Jim added. "Did you want to share something with the class?"

Toby blushed even more, the deep shade of his skin against his blond hair making him look nearly albino.

"I was out with some friends at a bar last year," he mumbled. "They kept insisting I go talk to this girl…"

By the time Toby has stumbled his way through the story, Pam was full on crying, she was laughing so hard, and Jim was on the ground.

He was pretty sure he'd peed a little, too.

"Yeah, yeah, definitely. Uh huh, yeah. Yeah, I'll call you tomorrow. Night….yeah, I love you too."

Jim slipped his new cell phone back into his pocket and turned his head to Pam's grinning face.

"What, Beesly?" he demanded.

She giggled. "I love you too?" she teased. "You guys are L-wording it now?"

He shrugged. "Well, yeah, we've been official for like, eight months now."

"Hmmm…" Pam lay back and stared up.

It was nearly one in the morning. After everyone else had gone home or gone to bed, Jim and Pam had climbed up on the Beesly's roof, staring up at the stars. It had been almost quiet, just their voices, the crickets, and the occasional car passing by. Then Jim's phone rang.

"Hmmmm, what?" Jim asked, his voice tinged with amusement. "What's hmmmm, Beesly?" He lay back next to her, looking up at the same star cluster.

"So you're really serious, huh?" she asked.

Jim though he heard a hint of something, jealousy, maybe? In Pam's voice. But that was probably just his imagination.

"Well, we're not picking out monogrammed towels or anything," he said. "But yeah, it's pretty serious."

"You love her," Pam said quietly, tapping her fingers against the rooftop. It was half a question and half a statement. And why the hell did she feel like there was a hot coal in her throat? It was really fucking annoying.

Jim gulped around his own sudden lump. "I love her," he said. "But if you mean is it the forever, devoted, spend my life with you love, I don't know. Hell, I'm 21, Pam. I'm not even close to ready to be thinking about that kind of stuff, you know?"

He pulled himself up to a sitting position and, feeling his movement, Pam did the same. She drew her knees to her chest, leaning her back against Jim's.

"She is," she informed him.

"What?" he sounded incredulous.

"Trust me."

He shook his head. "No way."

Pam nodded. "Trust me," she said, more emphatically.

Jim exhaled loudly, letting his head tilt back on top of Pam's. The idea that Karen could be looking at him as potential husband material, that she might even be at the point of thinking of anyone as potential husband material, was…not bad, exactly, just… overwhelming. He was glad he was sitting down.

Pam felt the weight of Jim's head against her own and closed her eyes. It was weird, a little, hearing him say "I love you" to Karen. She'd never heard him say "I love you" to any non-mom girl who wasn't her. And they loved each other the way best friends do. This was, like, Jim-in-love. It was a little weird.

Not bad weird. She was happy for him. She'd met Karen a bunch of times and liked her. Karen was funny, sarcastic and sharp. She had great style and she could beat any video game. And she had perfect hair. Honestly, Pam was a little jealous. Just of her hair. It was shiny and thick. And so smooth and straight without having to use a straightening iron on it. All Pam had was annoying frizz.

Jim tilted his head slightly, feeling Pam's curls against his cheek. He'd always been a sucker for curly hair. He'd asked Karen once why she never curled her hair. She'd scrunched up her nose and replied that it just wasn't her style.

Pam didn't love Toby. She liked him, a lot. She cared about him and thought he was a sweet guy. They had fun together. He was even pretty good in bed, from what she could tell. Well, he was giving. Very giving, as long as she told him what she wanted. He definitely never tried to push her to do anything. Sometimes she wished he would, just a little. Sometimes she wished he'd be just a little demanding.

But she knew he wasn't the one. She knew maybe she should let him go, give him the chance to find someone who thought he could be the one. Maybe give herself a chance to find someone who could be her one. She didn't really think too much about that, but she knew she probably wasn't being fair to Toby. She cared for him though, a lot, and it was nice to have someone to spend time with. Especially since Jim hadn't been as available for visits or marathon phone sessions since he'd been with Karen.

"Does Toby know about…" Jim started, hesitantly.

"The Incident?"

She shook her head. "Does Karen?"

He shook his.

*** October, 2000, University of Maryland.

He had no idea how they'd gotten here. The last moment that made any kind of sense, they'd been walking back across campus after watching a sketch comedy show, and the low hanging clouds had opened up.

By the time they'd gotten back to his dorm room, they were soaking wet and breathless.

He didn't know how it started. He wouldn't have been able to say, if he'd been put on a witness stand, who kissed who first.

All he knew was that he was wet.

And he was sitting on his bed.

And Pam was on his lap, straddling him.

And her hands were in his hair, tugging.

And his tongue was in her mouth.

She pulled her mouth from his, bending her head to the side and tracing her tongue along the edge of his ear.

"Jesus fuck, Pam," he gasped, his hands fisting at her wet tshirt, as the sensation of her tongue went from his ear straight down to his cock and rendered him immediately rock hard. He was pretty sure he could mine for diamonds with this hard-on.

She teased him with her tongue, grinding a little against his lap. She could feel his erection against her and a wetness between her legs that had nothing to do with the downpour in which they'd been caught.

He could feel her nipples, hard from cold and arousal, pressing against him. It was almost too much to take.

Jim grunted, pulling away and taking her jaw in his hands. Tilting her head back to expose her throat to him, he feasted on her neck, leaving tiny bite marks along her jaw line.

Pam moaned and pushed herself against him. He dipped his head, remembering the hollow above her collarbone from those months as young teenagers, and was pleased to find it still elicited the same response.

"God, Jim!" Pam shrieked, and his dick throbbed in his pants at the sound of his name.

He peeled the soaked red t-shirt off her, revealing a white bra that was almost completely see-through from the rain. He could see her pointed, pink nipples straining against the fabric, and was unable to resist the urge to bend his head down and bite one gently through the cotton of her bra.

Pam let out a guttural moan the likes of which Jim had never made come from a woman, and he had to hold his breath to keep from exploding at the sound.

"Kiss me," she pleaded.

He was more than happy to oblige, their eyes meeting for a lingering moment before his lips were on hers once again, brushing, sucking and nibbling. He felt his lips becoming swollen and bruised with her kisses and the pain was delicious.

Skin. He needed to feel her skin against his. Pulling back, he shucked his own wet shirt and replaced his mouth where it had been. Their cold, clammy skins felt warm between them as the energy filling the room sparked and crackled.

Soon they were lying down on his bed, lips and hands wandering, and Jim was tugging Pam's jeans off her legs. Her turquoise cotton boy shorts were slightly wet from the rain on the hips and very wet from her between the legs.

Jim brushed his hand softly, but purposefully, over the front of her panties and she gasped with the sensation and plunged her tongue into his mouth. He answered, eagerly, with his.

Jesus Christ, were they really going to do this?

Still kissing him, she pushed at the waistband of his jeans until they were midway down his thighs. His boxers inadvertently went along for the ride.

Pulling away, Pam looked down, and, oh, god, there was Jim's penis.

OH GOD! There was JIM'S PENIS!

A sudden wave of panic crashed over her. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…" she jumped off the bed, grabbing for the first dry article of clothing in reach, Jim's sweatshirt he'd shucked that afternoon. "Oh my god, oh my god…"

"Pam, hold on." Jim had the decency to put himself back in his boxers before reaching out to her. She ducked out of his way and rushed toward the door, pulling the sweatshirt on over her underwear. It reached past her knees.

"I'm sorry, I have to go, I have to go, oh my god, oh my god, have to go, have to go, have to go."

She ran from the room, letting the door slam behind her.

Jim, fully hard and half mindfucked, just sat on the bed, staring at the door, baffled. He didn't move though. He knew Pam. She'd come back eventually. As soon as she was finished pacing and muttering to herself for about an hour.

At least he knew he had time to jerk off before she returned. Whatever sex they might have been about to have was definitely not happening. And there was no way in hell this erection was going to go away on its own.**

"I can't believe you hid out in the ladies' room all night," Jim laughed, shaking his head.

She gaped at him. "Well, I was embarrassed!"

"Because you ran, muttering like Rain Man, half-dressed, from my room?" Jim queried. "Yeah, I can see how that might be a little embarrassing." He smirked.

He was rewarded for his wise-assery with a jab in the shoulder. "I'm sorry," Pam drawled sarcastically. "I was surprised."

Confused, Jim tilted his head at her, eyes narrowed. "You were confused?"

"Yes." She nodded emphatically.

He tilted his head more. "That I have a penis? Pam, what did you expect to find when you took off my boxers?" He wasn't wholly sure he wanted to know the answer.

Jim could see her blushing in the moonlight. "I was just…" she sputtered.

This was wholly amusing. "Just what?" he teased. "Pam, you know I have a penis. We've seen each other naked."

"Not since we were, like, five," she yelled. "It's different when it's now, and we're twenty, and there's stuff happening, and it…" she gestured wildly at his pants.

God help him, he had to hear the end of that sentence.

"It's?" His eyebrows were raised in amusement.

"Big!" she shouted at him, emphatically.

Jim's eyebrows now shot to his hairline, and he felt himself flush hot all over with embarrassment and, he had to admit, pride.

He glanced down at his lap, then back up at her, eyes dancing with amusement.

"Thank you?"

Pam met his eyes and blushed again, lashing out to slap at Jim's chest.

"I hate you," she informed him. She shoved at him again. And again. "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you."

The more Pam beat at him, the harder Jim laughed, and the redder her face got. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a bear hug and lying them both down again, his back meeting the roof as he kept on laughing and she pummeled him ineffectually.

"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you."


	18. Chapter 18

"All right," she began, pausing to take a bite of her broccoli cheddar soup. "Tell me why I'm sitting in a Panera in Aberdeen."Jim puffed out his cheeks and exhaled loudly. "Karen got the job in San Francisco." "The one at the ad firm?" Pam wondered. He nodded. "Jim, that's great! You were saying she really wanted that job, it's a great opportunity, what…" It hit her then. "Oh god," she said, reaching out to put her hand on his arm. "Did she?"He shook his head. Karen had not, as Pam suspected, given him some platitude-filled speech about their relationship having run its course, or going out in the real world after college, or any of that. If she'd done that, he wouldn't have a huge life-changing decision to make. "She wants me to go with her." Pam's mouth dropped open for a second. She shut it quickly, but not before Jim noticed. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah." Sometimes being someone's best friend sucked, Pam thought. The title demanded you be supportive at all costs, helping your best friend through whatever he needed to figure out. It meant putting your own feelings aside if that's what he needed. It meant not grabbing him by the neck of his t-shirt and telling him to not go to San Francisco. It meant fixing him with a calm, warm stare and asking: "What are you going to do?" He shook his head at his soup. "I don't know," he said. "I really, really don't know." He stared into the broccoli cheddar as though it held the answers to all his questions. Thank God for Pam. Without her, Jim might have let soup decide his future. Or he might still be sitting in his apartment, staring at the rubber plant. But Pam pulled a piece of paper and a pen out of her tote bag, shoved aside the food they were barely eating and drew a line down the middle of the sheet."San Francisco," she wrote at the top. At the head of one column, "Pros," at the top of the other "Cons." Before looking up at Jim, she wrote the word "Karen" under the pros section. Then raised her eyes to her friend. "All right," Pam said, logically, because one of them had to be logical and Jim's head was obviously swimming. "Pros and cons. Pro, Karen, obviously." Jim honestly wasn't so sure. But he wasn't ready to talk about that. Not yet. "Pro," he said, "San Francisco's supposed to be really cool." Pam nodded. "Yeah, I remember when we lived in Santa Barbara for a while, when my dad got transferred, we went there a few times. I remember there were a lot of hills, cool looking houses and weird people. And amazing Chinese food." She grinned. "Pro. Chinese food." "Con," Jim replied. "I don't have a job there." Pam nodded and wrote it down. "Well," she asked. "What about the publishing house in New York? Do they have offices near San Francisco? What's it called, Dunder Muppets or something?" "Dunder Mifflin," Jim replied. "They don't. It's mainly East Coast branches. New York's the main office." She nodded. "Okay, well, that's a definite setback, but you can find a job." "Con," Jim said quietly, "Karen wants to name kids Thaddeus and Sterling." "Sterling?" Pam asked, incredulous. "What is that?" Jim nodded. "Girl.""Ah." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Jim, why are we talking about baby names? Karen's not?" She prayed Karen wasn't. He shook his head. "No" ("Thank God," he thought, not saying it aloud). "But…" he sighed, looking into the oracle soup again. "But?" Pam prompted looked up. "If I move out there," he said, "I'm basically saying that I'll ask her to marry me someday." She felt like she was losing him. Like next week she was going to be toasting a lifetime of happiness to him and his radiant brunette bride. Then they'd move off to San Francisco, and the promise to visit would fall to phone calls, then emails, and suddenly, she was a name on a Christmas card list, just another old friend who received a glossy photo of Jim and Karen beaming with adorable little Thaddeus and lovely little Sterling on their laps, wishing Seasons Greetings to a bevy of acquaintances. This is why being someone best friend sucked. "Okay," she said carefully, not wanting to muddle his thoughts. "And?" Jim began tearing at a piece of bread, ripping it into pieces and balling them up. "I'm not ready to think about getting married," he admitted. "I want to graduate, work, have some money of my own. Maybe go to grad school. I don't know, but I'm 22. I'm not ready for marriage."Pam nodded. "Okay, sure," she said, "but Karen can't be expecting you to bust out some diamond ring next month."He crunched the inside of his lip against his teeth for a moment before telling her the key part to all of this: "She said either we move out there together or it's over." All the air rushed out of her, and in that moment, Pam hated Karen. Who the hell did she think she was, forcing Jim into a major decision like that, giving him such an ultimatum? What did it say about this girl that she wasn't even willing to try to do it any way other than her own? What if California wasn't right for Jim? Was Karen willing to let him languish in a place that wasn't good for him? Was she willing to let him go if he wanted dreams of his own? Karen, Pam decided, was an idiot. "What do you want?" she asked, because she was pretty sure sharing her thoughts wasn't what Jim needed in this moment. Because that's what this was all about. Pam knew she wasn't really there to tell Jim what to do; he would figure that out on his own. He just needed her there because…well, he just needed her there. He shook his head. "I don't know." This sucked. This absolutely sucked. Whatever decision he made, he lost something. "We can start a life of our own," Karen had murmured, the words taking shape against his ear, "without so many…distractions." He knew what, or rather who, she'd meant. "I love her," Jim began. "She's…incredible. I don't want to lose her."This was, Pam reminded herself, about Jim. About what he needed, what he wanted. She told herself she would support whatever decision he made. If he wanted Karen and California, she'd be happy for him. Hell, she'd help him pack the U-Haul. "But…"Pam felt herself holding her breath. "…but," continued Jim, "I can't go. I just…I can't." It was too far. Not just too far from Scranton, but too far from…home. He knew he'd lose Karen. He hated the idea. He knew he'd hurt her terribly by telling her he couldn't go to California with her. He hated that more. But he just couldn't do it. He couldn't move 3,000 miles away from home. He knew he loved Karen, but he knew moving with her was the wrong , this sucked. Jim rested his head in his hands, pressing his fingers against his temples to try and quell the noise inside his head. "Maybe," Pam started, and he didn't look up, "maybe she'll reconsider the long distance thing." Jim shook his head. "She's already insecure enough about our relationship being on the same campus," he informed her. "She's not going to agree to long distance."Pam scoffed. "What is Karen insecure about?"He fixed her with a Look, telling her with his eyes not to play dumb. ***Standing in the parking lot beside her red Ford Focus, Pam looked up at Jim."Are you sure?" she just shrugged. "I think it's the only choice I really have," he said. "I hate what it's going to mean, but I just can't do it. I can't move with her."She nodded. There was something she needed to tell him. "I got that job," she said. "The gallery assistant."Jim's eyes shot open wide. "In Soho?" He had a job offer in New York. Pam had a job offer in New York. She nodded. "Why didn't you say something?"It was her turn to shrug. "Because," she told him, "your decision had to be about you. About what you wanted. Not about you feeling some obligation to look after me."Despite the blow to his manhood, even if he were the only one who knew it, Jim felt like he might cry. No one, no one, looked after him like Pam did. "I don't feel…" he protested, but she held up her hand to stop him from lying."Jim."He nodded and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his body and feeling her breath through his t-shirt where her head rested on his chest. "You're the best, Beesly," he announced, his voice thick in his throat, "the absolute best."


	19. Chapter 19

December, 2003

Main office of Dunder Mifflin Publishing Company, New York, NY

"Hold the elevator!"

Jim dashed down the hall and slipped in to the car, breathless.

"Jim Halpert, right? You work in Y.A.?"

He turned to look directly at the company's executive editor.

"Yes sir, Mr. Wallace, that's right."

Mr. Wallace, who was probably in his early forties, shook his head amiably. "Call me David, Jim."

Jim nodded. "David."

"Enjoying your work here, Jim?"

"Absolutely," Jim replied. "The manuscripts are usually really good, or I get a laugh from them. I like working with the clients. I don't even mind the, uh…"

"More mundane tasks?" David filled in.

Jim nodded. "Exactly." Just then, his cell phone rang in his pocket. "Excuse me," he said to his boss (or really, his boss's boss's boss).

"Hey Pam… yeah, that sounds good. Will you get me the usual? I'll be there in 20 minutes. Yeah, all right then."

He hung up and mouthed an apology to David Wallace, who shook his head.

"No worries," the older man told Jim. "Your girlfriend? You're not married, right?"

Jim laughed. "No, definitely not married. No girlfriend either. Pam, my best friend. We grew up together and both ended up getting jobs in New York after college, so we share a lot of takeout Chinese food." He smiled, more to himself than to his boss.

"She sounds like a good friend," David observed, hiding a knowing smile.

Jim barely noticed. "Yeah, Pam's the greatest."

Pam's studio apartment

2nd Avenue and 10th Street

"Excuse me, will you stop bogarting the sesame noodles," Pam demanded, reaching to grab the container from Jim as he shoveled noodles into mouth.

He caught the falling noodles before they hit her sofa, pushing the handful into his mouth and licking his palm clean before wiping it on his jeans.

"Says the girl who inhaled an entire order of spare ribs," he shot back as best he could with a face stuffed full of noodles.

She made a face at him as they both finished chewing sloppily.

"So Michael came into the gallery again today," Pam informed him.

Jim laughed. At least once a week, Pam regaled him with stories of the strange, brash art dealer who frequented the Soho gallery where she was an assistant. She was pretty sure Michael was smitten with the gallery director, Holly.

"What was today's topic of discussion?"

She laughed. "Dawson's Creek," Pam replied. "He's very upset about how it ended. Thinks Dawson should have gotten the girl."

Jim knit his brow. "But Dawson already has a creek," he argued. "If he gets the girl too, that's just greedy."

Pam exhaled in mock relief. "Thank you, Jim, that's what I said."

Jim nodded sagely. Great minds think alike, apparently. "What did Michael say to that?"

"He didn't say anything," Pam sighed, "just started singing 'I Don't Want to Wait' in a very sad voice."

Jim opened his mouth to try to approximate this, but before he could warble a note, Pam stuffed an egg roll between his lips and halfway down his throat.

"Bffqywwwpphh," he sputtered, spitting it out. "I won't sing, I won't sing, I promise. No choking Jim."

She nodded in accordance and picked a fresh egg roll from the box, taking a bite.

"Hey, speaking of shoving things into mouths," Pam mumbled, "how was your date the other night?"

He rolled his eyes at her crassness. "So ladylike, Pamela!"

She answered with a carefully selected finger and a smirk.

"It was weird," he said. "She's some friend of Pete's old boss. She just moved back to the city after getting divorced."

Pam about choked. "Divorced? How old is this woman?"

Jim shrugged. "Thirty something, I guess."

"And why is she going on dates with 23-year-old dumb asses?"

He shrugged again, not bothering to waste his time denying what she'd said. Jim was self-aware enough to know that he was, indeed, a 23-year-old dumb ass."

"Did you sleep with her?"

Did he sense a tone in Pam's voice? Jim decided to have some fun.

"Well, you know…"

Her mouth dropped. "Jim!"

Oh, this was fun…

"What?" he asked nonchalantly. "She wanted to, she was attractive. I'm single, Jan's single, why not?"

He stared her down until her shocked face got to him and he broke.

"You're so gullible," he laughed.

Gaping, Pam whipped a fortune cookie at him. "You suck, Jim Halpert, you totally suck."

He grinned. "Pam Beesly, are you jealous?"

Sometimes, she thought, Jim deserved to be smacked around a little.

"No," Pam scoffed, sneering at him a bit. "I just don't think slutting around on first dates reflects well on you."

He snorted. "Reflects well on me?" Jim mimicked. "Who are you, my mother?"

He deserved the wallop she gave him with the throw pillow. He could admit that.

"Excuse me for trying to look out for you," she pouted, flopping against the sofa cushion and crossing her arms over her chest.

Pam was very cute when she was being petulant. Jim rolled his eyes at her and scooted across the couch, slinging an arm around her shoulders. Pam stiffened stubbornly under his touch.

"You are such a brat," he informed her affectionately. When she still wouldn't look at him, his expression softened. "I didn't sleep with her," Jim admitted.

That did the trick. Pam turned to look at him, still slightly scowling but there was a trace of something else there too. Relief, maybe?

"Though I might have if she hadn't been a serious chain smoker," he went on. "This dry spell is getting to be ridiculous."

Pam sighed loudly. "I just think you should be with someone special."

Jim sighed even louder. "That'd be great, but I haven't met anyone special since…before graduation."

He avoided saying Karen's name. He knew Pam wasn't a fan of hers anymore. The break up had been hard on him and he'd spent a lot of time leaning on his friend. Pam was none-too-thrilled with Karen for giving Jim such a strong ultimatum.

Jim didn't care anymore. He hoped Karen was happy; if he bumped into her on the street, he wouldn't turn down catching up over coffee, but he had no inclination to make any effort to stay in touch. It wasn't she who was keeping him from meeting anyone, as Pam had said, special, in this city of millions. Karen was firmly in his past.

"Except for me," Pam teased.

She was joking, but the thing is, it wasn't really that funny. He turned to face her.

"Yeah," Jim agreed, his voice suddenly low and serious. "You are."

He stared in to her eyes.

(1...2...3...4)

She stared back into his

(5...6...7...8)

The leaky faucet dripped, making a metallic sound against the sink.

(9...10...11...12)

Jim felt his mouth water, while at the same time, going dry.

(13...14...15...16)

Pam wanted to blink, but it was like she didn't remember how to.

(17...18...19...)

"Say it," he thought to himself, "just say it."

(20...21...22...)

"If you kiss me right now," she thought, "I'm not going to stop you."

(23...24...25...)

"I'm in…" his brain started to rehearse…

(26...27...)

"I'm cold," Pam announced suddenly, breaking the silence and shifting away from him. She got up and walked into her tiny kitchen, grabbing the tea kettle and filling it with water.

That had gotten weird. Sure, there had been a lot of moments, tense moments, with her and Jim over the years. It was just to be expected between a guy and a girl. But this had been different. Jim had seemed like he was about to do or say something big.

Could she handle it if he did?

Could she handle it if he didn't?

She heard his footsteps behind her and panicked, turning around.

"Listen, Jim…"

He didn't. Listen.

Jim just kept walking, right up to her. He slid his arms around her waist and his mouth against hers, angling his head and capturing her bottom lip between his, pulling her flush against him.

Stunned, she put her hands up to his chest, as if to push him away.

But then he ran the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip and she sighed into his mouth, opening for him and sliding her hands up his chest, past his neck and into his hair.

He pulled her closer and their tongues met, exploring.

He kissed her warm and soft and slow, in her tiny, tiny kitchen, like wax melting in the middle of a pillar candle. He tasted plum sauce on her tongue.

Minutes pass, he doesn't know how many, and he doesn't stop kissing her.


	20. Chapter 20

March 2004

"Mom, really," Jim complained. "I'm 24. I know how to pick my own clothes. And there are stores in New York."

Larissa fixed her youngest with a good humored look as she marched him through Boscov's at the Mall at Steamtown.

"Stop being a little shit and pretend you enjoy spending time with your mother," she joked.

Jim groaned, averting his eyes as they made their way past the lingerie displays. "I do, Mom, but shopping?"

Larissa steered him around a mannequin wearing something that looked like a torture device, moving through the house wares department, toward men's apparel. Suddenly, she stopped.

"Isn't that Joan and Pam?" she asked, peering toward cookware.

Jim bit back a grin and dragged his feet a bit, letting his mother lead him toward the pair.

"Mom," Pam was whining, "I don't know anything about crockery. I don't know which you should get."

Larissa tapped the Beesly ladies, who turned around and smiled at their company.

"Sweetie, I didn't know you were home this weekend," she said, hugging Pam. "Jimmy, did you know Pam was home this weekend?"

Jim, who was receiving greetings of his own from Joan, flashed a casual half-smile. "Uh, nope." He nodded at his best friend. "Hey, Pam."

"Hey, Jim," she replied with a brilliant grin.

"So what brings you two here?" Joan asked.

Jim rolled his eyes. Larissa shook her head. "Trying to get Jim some more work clothes. He doesn't have anything but those awful old ties of Bill's."

Pam, blessedly, spoke up. "Hey, why don't I help Jim look for new ties and you can help Mom pick out new…whatever you want to get. My version of cooking is microwaving takeout, so I have no idea what I'm doing here."

Seeing the pleading look in Jim's eye, Larissa consented quickly. "All right," she said, swatting Jim affectionately, "I get it; you don't want to shop with your mother. You two go and we'll meet you in the men's section in 10 minutes, then we'll all have lunch, okay?"

Jim and Pam nodded, heading off toward menswear.

"Think about where you want to eat," Joan called after them.

As the kids wandered off, Joan and Larissa turned back to the Creuset.

"She's such a pretty girl, Joan," Larissa told her friend, who beamed. "Such a natural beauty. She must be beating the boys off with sticks."

Joan shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "She hasn't had anyone serious since that Toby boy…"

Larissa weighed a green Dutch oven in her hands. "Oh, I remember him. Sweet, but…"

"Dull," Joan filled in.

Larissa nodded. "Like a vanilla pudding cup. Pammy needs someone more dynamic."

"Actually," Joan whispered, leaning in confidentially even though there was no one else within earshot, "I think she might have met someone. The last couple of months she's sounded happier on the phone; she's been busy more. And she's wearing a little more makeup, not that she needs it, but I think maybe she's met someone in New York."

Larissa smiled. "You don't think it's that Michael person she was talking about over Christmas, do you?"

Joan shook her head. "No no. She said he's smitten with her boss. I don't know." She tilted her head at Larissa. "What about Jim? Handsome charmer like him has to be doing well."

Larissa shrugged. "You know, since he broke up with that Karen, he's been pretty vague on the whole topic. There's the occasional "oh yeah, seeing this girl tonight, yeah, she's nice" but I don't think he's mentioned anyone more than a few times. The last few months, he hasn't said anything about anyone."

Joan raised an eyebrow. "Maybe he met someone too."

Checking the price of a tangine, Larissa shook her head. "No, I think he'd tell me if he had. He said he's been laying low. I think maybe it's hard to meet people in New York. I've asked about anyone at work, but he's pretty adamant that dating at the office is a bad idea."

"That's how Ed and I met," Joan said. "At a school supplies company. I was the secretary, he was a salesman." She smiled at the memory. "Anyway," she continued, "I'm sure Jim's doing just fine. I worry about Pammy in that big city though. I know my daughter would call me horribly backwards for saying this, but I'm glad Jim's there to look out for her."

Larissa laughed. "Well, does it negate your lack of progressiveness at all if I say I'm glad Jimmy has Pam to look out for him?"

Her friend nodded, smiling. "I think that helps. You know," she admitted, "I always used to think, maybe, those two…"

Larissa smirked a bit, her smile so like her son's. "Used to?" she asked. "I'm still waiting for them to come to their senses. You're not?"

Joan shook her head, a bit sadly. "I think maybe they would have already gotten there," she said. "It's probably just as well though. They both know they always have a friend to count on."

"Maybe in 30 years they'll be widowed or divorced and find their way to each other," Larissa said, only partly joking.

Joan laughed a bit. "You need to stop watching "When Harry Met Sally" every time Bill works late," she teased her friend.

Larissa could only sigh in agreement.

"So," Pam teased as she and Jim meandered through menswear. "Mommy's taking Jimmy shopping?"

He smirked at her. "Bite me." It was a brilliant, mature response, he knew.

So did she, it seemed, by her own smirk and wink. Pam headed toward a table of brightly colored ties, Jim trailing in her wake.

"I think this one," she announced, plucking a magenta satin tie from the rainbow, "is just perfect."

She was kidding. He knew she was kidding. He prayed she was kidding. She was kidding, right?

"Pink?" He shook his head. "No way, Pam. I'm not wearing a bright pink tie."

She shook her head. "It's not pink," she scoffed, "it's magenta. Let me see."

Reaching up, she looped the tie around his neck as he squirmed. The corners of her mouth curled up.

"It's nice," she drawled. "It brings out the pink in your cheeks."

Jim shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. "My cheeks are pink," he informed her, "because I'm blushing from the humiliation at having anything called 'magenta' on my person."

Still holding the ends of the tie, which was draped around his neck, Pam shook her head.

"You're blushing," she whispered, tugging softly on the material, her own cheeks taking on a pink tinge.

Jim grinned, letting her pull him down. "You are very blushing," he replied, inclining his head.

Their lips met and Jim felt Pam relax, opening her mouth slightly. He wrapped his arms around her waist and let his lips massage hers, kissing her leisurely.

"Where did you tell your parents you went last night?" he muttered, licking the words on to the tip of her tongue.

"Out with Jocelyn," she answered into his mouth. "You?"

"Poor Richards with some guys from the old basketball team."

"Hmmmm…"

They ceased all conversation then, focusing their energies on each other's lips and tongues and bodies.

Jim held Pam's head in his hands, pulling his fingers through her hair.

Pam let go of the tie and looped her arms around Jim's neck, massaging the muscles there.

Kissing her felt so good. So, so good. He wanted to groan into her mouth and press himself fully against her, but he forced himself to remember they were in public.

She'd just kiss him for a few more seconds, she told herself.

Just another minute, he thought.

"Oh my goodness!"

"What is…"

They sprang apart, now both the color of the tie still hanging around Jim's neck, turning to face their mothers, who were wearing nearly matching expressions of surprise, pleasure, amusement and embarrassment.

"Ummm…" Pam stammered.

"We decided on Cugino's for lunch," Jim announced, taking advantage of his long legs to stride purposefully toward the door, his mother hot on his heels.

"Jim's just really passionate about Italian food," he heard Pam tell Joan, hearing the blush in her voice.

As he paused to deposit the tie on a table of shirts, Larissa caught up with her son, grabbing his arm.

"Passionate about Italian food?" she hissed.

He pressed his lips together. "Yeah," he smirked. "I'm very passionate about Italian food.

In fact," he hesitated, but he'd always felt like he could tell his mother anything and he'd been holding this in for months. They'd always been close, despite Pete teasing him about being a momma's boy. "I'm in love with Italian food."

Her mouth dropped slightly, then pulled into a wide smile. He was pretty sure he saw tears come into her eyes.

"Are you crying?" he asked, glancing back over his shoulder to Joan and Pam, who were also heading toward the exit. They'd all meet at the restaurant, he knew.

"Excuse me," Larissa said. "You're my baby." Jim rolled his eyes at this. "I see you falling in love with a beautiful girl, your best friend, whom I adore, not that I'm surprised. I'm allowed to get a little emotional."

Jim could feel his own tears start to form and fought them back, but fixed his mother with a smile before pushing through the door and heading across the parking lot toward the car.

"But James Halpert," she called, and he turned back, waiting for her to catch up with him.

He raised an eyebrow in question. What had he done to merit a "James?"

"If 'Italian food' comes home pregnant," Larissa informed him, patting him on the upper arm, "I'll cut your penis off."

Jim doubled over in pain at the thought as his mother walked toward the black Saab.

"You coming, Jimmy?" she called back.

He held up a hand. He was going to need a minute.


	21. Chapter 21

May 2005

Sabre Art Gallery, Soho, New York

Freakin' Jim wasn't picking up his phone. He probably let it die again.

Now Pam was stuck at the gallery until God knows when waiting on a sculpture that was being flown in from Ljubljana and no way to reach Jim to let him know she wouldn't be able to meet him for dinner.

Damn it.

She wasn't even supposed to be working late tonight. Holly had remembered at the last minute that a shipment was coming in.

She'd remembered it ten minutes after Michael had left after practically skipping around the office, reminding Holly and Pam of his stand up comedy performance that evening.

"Go," Pam had told Holly, seeing her boss's face fall as she realized she'd miss her boyfriend's performance. "I'll wait for the shipment."

Holly had hugged Pam, apologized, and happily left at 7. And Pam, remembering her dinner plans with her own better half, had dialed his phone.

Which he wasn't picking up.

Because he had a tendency to forget to charge it.

She loved him. She did. She'd always loved him, her whole life, in one capacity or another.

But when you know someone all your life, you know their flaws. You know they are imperfect.

Jim, bless him, was far from perfect.

Frustrated, Pam blew her bangs out of her eyes, punching his number on speed dial again.

"Hi, you've reached Jim Halpert. Or, more specifically, you've reached Jim Halpert's voicemail. Please leave a message and I'll return your call. Jim, that is, not my voicemail. Because voicemail can't make calls. Thanks."

"Hey, dork," Pam began, "you let your phone die again and I'm trying to reach you to tell you I can't meet for dinner because I have to wait all night here for some shipment from an unpronounceable city in Central Eur-"

A sharp knock sounded on the gallery's window. Pam whirled around, panic seizing her chest for a moment, then breaking out in a grin when she saw his face outside.

"Dork," she said again, into the phone, smiling.

She strode across the floor and unlocked the door, ushering him in.

'Do you ever charge your phone?" she greeted him.

Jim rolled his eyes. He'd been hearing her bitching about his lack of phone-charging ability since cell phones became a part of their lives, midway through college. It hadn't changed since they'd started dating.

Except now he could invoke the most wonderful of conversation stoppers - the Shut Up Kiss.

As Pam opened her mouth to continue her good natured berating, Jim swooped down and captured her lips with his, effectively quieting the impending rant. She struggled indignantly, for a moment, just for show, then surrendered with a sigh, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting him lift her off the floor.

"What are you doing here?" she mumbled into his neck as he detached himself from her mouth, but still kept her feet dangling.

He laughed. "When Bossy Beesly didn't call to tell me where we were going for dinner, I figured you had to work late, so I thought I'd come see if I could be of any assistance."

Assistance, her Aunt Fanny. She knew what that meant.

"Assistance?" she queried, raising an eyebrow as Jim finally placed her back on the ground. "Might that be code for 'copping a feel in the storeroom,' Mr. Halpert?"

Nope. Copping a feel was definitely not his goal.

"Why, Ms. Beesly," Jim murmured, leaning to trace his tongue around the edge of her earlobe. (Fuck, that felt good, she thought) "You wound me."

Pam just groaned. Jim smirked into her hair. He knew how to get the goosebumps rising on her skin.

It made something of his rise too.

"Oh, so you - ah!" she cried out, scrabbling for a grip of his shirt as the tip of Jim's tongue traced the cord of muscle down the side of her neck. "…don't want to cop a feel?"

He shook his head, running his hand up the back of her leg, beneath her skirt - no stockings, he loved late spring - up, up, up her thigh…

"Nope," Jim whispered hotly into Pam's ear - fuck, he was making her so wet - "I want so much more."

Guh. She really wanted to know who had taught Jim to do that, to talk in a way that sent his words right from his mouth to her clit. Just hearing him talk sometimes turned her on more than any other guy she'd ever, well, more-than-talked with.

Using every bit of resistance, she pushed away from him, walking backward, her mouth curling up in a half-smile.

"Shipment," she intoned. "From Europe. The plane isn't even scheduled to land until 9:50."

Jim nodded sagely. "I see…"

He missed her. He reached for her.

Pam ducked, teasing him.

"I really should get some work done," she informed him, sighing resolutely. "I think there's plenty of inventory to be done in the back. Will you help me?"

She whirled on her heel and walked briskly toward the store room, swishing her hips and her hair. Jim watched her ass in her black pencil skirt for a moment, then rushed after her.

When he reached the dimly lit store room, with bubble wrapped canvases and sculptures on racks and shelves all around them, Pam actually was reaching up on her toes to place a small canvas on to a shelf above her head.

Jim stood for a minute, watching as she stretched to reach the shelf. He watched her back arch, her skirt shift up on her hips as she stood on her toes. He watched her breasts strain against the fabric of the striped button down shirt she wore as she reached her arm over her head, just barely missing the shelf. His penis stirred impatiently in his pants, demanding attention.

Silently, he came up behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist to pull her back against him. She could feel his growing erection against her back as he reached up and took the canvas from her hand, placing it easily on the shelf above their heads.

"Show off," Pam mumbled, letting the arm that had been reaching up fall back around his neck and arching her head against his chest.

Jim took the cue, ducking his head down to nibble roughly at her collarbone, unbuttoning her blouse to expose more of her skin to him, revealing a white cotton bra with blue rosebuds. He could already see her nipples straining against the fabric and he pulled her ass even harder against him, letting her feel what she did to him.

"I want you," he demanded. "Now."

Pam arched her back, pressing her ass into his crotch and moving up and down a bit, rubbing against him.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he swore. "You make me so goddamn hard."

She smirked to herself, preening at the power she had over him.

"Come here," Jim groaned, spinning her around in his grip and crushing his lips to hers. She felt an almost bruising pressure for a second, then he eased up, letting a hard kiss because softer, but wet, intense, long. Long, so long…

Long like his penis, hard and throbbing, the tip barely staying within the confines of his waistband as it strained upward.

Long like her fingers, stroking up and down his length over his pants, teasing him with feather light touches as her other hand gripped the back of his neck.

Long like the amount of time he wanted to love her, minutes stretching into hours, hours stretching into days, days stretching into weeks, weeks stretching into years, just love…Pam….love….Pam….love….

Oh god. He felt himself sinking as she pulled them down to the floor.

Jim tried to lay her down beneath him, but she shook her head, pushing her on to his back and straddling him.

"On top, huh?" he teased, reaching his hand up under her skirt to brush his knuckles over the front of her underwear. She was so warm, already, and wet. He slipped two fingers beneath the crotch of her panties and pushed them into her.

"God!" Pam cried out, as his fingers entered her. She felt herself clenching and thrust against his hand, greedy for more. She wanted to feel him completely. His hot, throbbing cock deep inside her. His truly artistic tongue swirling through her folds, up around her pulsing clitoris, she wanted him to make her come ten different ways.

But she wanted it to last too. Sighing, Pam reached between them, pulling his hands from between her legs and guided them up to her breasts.

Jim thrust his hips upward as she slipped his fingers into her bra. He pushed the cups of the fabric down, freeing her breasts, and rubbed and pinched her nipples, massaging them with her wetness, so close she could smell her arousal on his fingers, on her own skin.

She moved her aching pelvis against him and he wanted to shove his cock deep inside her.

"God, I want to fuck your mouth," Jim growled in Pam's ear as she rubbed against him. The friction of his slacks against his throbbing erection, combined with the heat he felt emanating from her was going to kill him. "I want fuck your pussy."

She came at his words, her pelvis thrusting involuntarily against his as she shook, feeling herself get hotter and wetter, her arousal flooding the nearly nonexistent material of her sheer purple panties and leaking on to her thighs and his pants.

He held her against him, struggling to control his own reaction as he felt her shaking. He couldn't believe how viscerally she reacted when he talked dirty to her.

Jim had never thought of Pam as a prude, certainly, but when they'd finally, blessedly, crossed that line from "just friends" to, God, everything, he'd been a little surprised (and very pleased) to learn just how… descriptive she could be.

And how demanding.

Jim had learned very quickly that when it came to sex, Pam was in charge. Even when he was in charge, she was still in charge.

She wanted, what she wanted, when she wanted it. And she expected to have it.

And that made him so…

"Hard," Pam groaned in his ear as she gripped him through his pants. "You're so hard. I love it. I want it."

Hell, he wanted it too.

"Yes, Pam, god," Jim groaned. "Fuck, that feels good."

She pulled the buttons of his slacks open, shoving his fly open and reaching in to roughly free his rock hard penis as he moved his hand to the back of her head, pulling her down for a rough kiss.

Jim groaned as Pam weighed his erection in her hand, feeling it hot, heavy and long against her palm. She moaned at the satisfaction and Jim felt himself swelling with pride.

He had to admit, he was proud of his dick. It was well above average, he knew, and that delighted, aroused sound Pam made every time it was revealed to her gave him erections the likes of which he'd never had. He was pretty sure she made him as hard as a human being could possibly get.

"God, I love your cock," she growled down his throat. "I have to suck it."

He'd been wrong. It was possible to be harder than he'd been.

Moving down his body, Pam ran her tongue along the length of him. He groaned as she took his erection into her mouth, moving up and down, switching up the pressure.

Pam ran her tongue along the hard ridge of his head and he fought with everything he had not to buck and thrust himself down her throat. She felt him pulse with arousal, felt the blood course through his swollen penis and she fluttered between her legs.

Reaching down, she began to lazily stroke herself as she moved her lips and tongue up and down his length. Soon, Jim was moaning and begging.

"God, stop, Pam, fuck," he was muttering incoherently, "fuck, shit, gonna come, oh fucking sweet Jesus, Pam…"

She ignored him and kept going, swirling her tongue around the base of him, using the tip to etch lovely, filthy things against his balls.

"Fuck, stop," he groaned, pulling her up by her hair. "I want to come inside you."

Her clit vibrated at his words and his roughness. She crawled up his body to kiss him, loving his lips.

"Then fuck me," she demanded.

Jim shook his head, smiling almost cruelly against her mouth. "No," he whispered, and the one syllable coursed down her throat and through her blood. "I need to taste you first."

He pulled himself to a sitting position, Pam straddling his lap. Suddenly he reached beneath her thighs and pulled them up and toward him, draping her legs over his shoulders, her head in his lap and her warm, wet center mere centimeters from his mouth. She was so close he could smell her, could feel the heat that radiated from her against his lips.

"Ohh!" Pam cried out in shock.

"Relax," Jim whispered, massaging the sides of her hips. "Relax, baby."

She obeyed and moaned out loud as he pulled her up a touch more, his tongue licking a long, soft stroke from her opening all the way up to the damp hair below her lower abdomen. He sighed hot air on to her center and inhaled the earthy scent of her.

"Oh god, Jim." Her voice trembled. So did her legs.

With her head in his lap, his erection brushed warmly against her cheek and she turned her head to lick at it.

Jim groaned. "No," he informed her. "It's your turn."

He licked up her again, drawing his tongue in concentric circles around her clitoris, moving closer and closer until his lips closed around the swelling bud, sucking gently as his tongue massaged her.

She pushed herself against his mouth, whining for release.

Jim pulled away from her, no longer touching, but teasing her with his breath.

"No!" Pam cried. "Don't stop!"

He smirked, licking around her opening but never letting his tongue enter her.

"Why, Pam?" he tormented. "Does it feel good?"

She whimpered. "Yes, yes."

He licked up one side of her soaked folds. "Do you want to come, Pam?"

She nodded desperately in his lap, her hair rubbing his twitching cock. "Yes, yes, I want to come, Jim. I want to come so badly."

He licked up the other side of her. "Tell me what you want, Pam," he groaned between her thighs. "Tell me how you want me to make you come."

She panted, her hot breath pulsing against his crotch and he struggled to keep himself from exploding on to her face.

"Suck my clit," she demanded. "Put your fingers inside me."

Fuck, that was hot.

"Yes, ma'am," Jim growled. He placed his lips around her and sucked gently, letting the tip of his tongue push in tiny circles as she swelled and blossomed beneath his mouth. He could feel her hands gripping his thighs, her nails digging into his skin.

"Touch me," she pleaded, "put your fingers in me."

He didn't quite obey, but teased her dripping center with the pads of his fingers, stroking circles around her opening as he loved her with his mouth.

When her hips moved up and down of their own accord and he had to grip them hard to keep her from knocking his jawbone out of whack, he knew she was close.

And he couldn't resist teasing her a bit.

"Are you close, Pam?" he whispered, no longer touching her.

She strained her hips up to his mouth. "Yes, fuck, so close," she whined, as her juices flooded his hand, running down his arm.

"Do you want to come, Pam?" he tormented her, letting his breath dance over her buzzing clitoris.

"Yes, yes, I want to come," she begged, thrashing at the delicious torture.

"Do you need to come?" He was a millimeter away, if that.

She screamed in frustration. "Yes, please Jim, I need to come. Make me come." She was so wet, his shirt sleeve was soaked with her arousal.

"Fuck," he groaned, closing his lips around her as he finally pushed two fingers inside of her, crooking them up and pushing hard against that magical spot that made her

"Oh, fuck!" she screamed, so loud it hurt her throat, as her orgasm flooded his mouth. "Fuck, I'm coming, fuck, yes, yes, oh god, holy mother fucking god, god, Jim, yes, yes, yes!"

He lifted his mouth from her, but twisted his fingers inside her again and her fluids sprayed over his face as she thrashed and cursed.

He couldn't wait another second. He had to be inside her.

Her hips still thrusting wildly, Jim pushed Pam's legs from his shoulders, pulling her back upright in his lap.

He held her tightly around the waist with one arm, gripping the base of his cock with his other hand as he impaled her with it, squeezing hard to keep from coming that instant.

Barely done with her orgasm, Pam screamed and came again at the feeling of him entering her, her fluids soaking his testicles as he bit her shoulder and fought with everything he had to keep from emptying himself inside her right then and there.

Holding the base of his burning penis with one hand and holding Pam against him with his other arm, Jim waited until she stopped bucking wildly and collapsed against him, her breath hot and moist on his neck.

"Sweet Pam," he murmured into her ear as she fluttered all around him. "Sexy, beautiful, perfect Pam."

"I love you," she moaned, "God, I love you."

They sat like that, locked together, she swollen and soft around him, he hot and hard inside her, on the cold, concrete floor, until she felt him switch involuntarily and began to rock her hips against him.

"Come on, Jim," she coaxed. "Come inside of me."

He began to thrust, struggling to maintain some semblance of control. "Do you think you can," he asked her, "again?"

Pam moaned, resting her head on his shoulder. "I don't know," she murmured. "I don't care. I just want to feel you explode in me."

Sweet Jesus, she turned him on. He loved being inside of her. Jim thought if anyone ever asked him what he thought heaven was like, the only honest response he could give would be "like Pam's vagina."

And he was pretty sure that wouldn't be a socially acceptable thing to say.

"You're so hot," he muttered against her sweaty neck, licking the slick skin there. "So, so, sexy." He grazed his teeth against the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder and she cried out.

"My Pam," he groaned, nipping her possessively. "I love fucking you."

"Yes, Jim, yes," she moaned, reaching down massage his balls, and she thought she might come again after all as his hips began to move uncontrollably.

"Oh, fuck, Pam, I'm gonna come," he cried out, feeling his testicles tighten beneath her fingers.

She loved, loved, loved when he was right on edge. Jim's arousal was the greatest aphrodisiac.

"I think I am too," she answered, straining around his cock, and he quickly moistened his fingers on his tongue and moved them between their bodies to rub her pulsing bud.

She was right on that delicious, torturous edge and she needed him to push her over.

"Come inside me, Jim," she begged, "I need to feel you. Come for me, Jim, explode in me, now."

That did it.

"Fuck," he screamed, and came hard, shooting his hot semen into her as he continued to rub her clit vigorously.

She felt him go over, felt him emptying himself, felt his come shooting into her, filling her, and she lost it, orgasming around his coming cock as her body soaked him, milking the last drops from him.

Finally, exhausted and spent, they collapsed to the floor, still locked together, an entanglement of arms and legs.

"Shit," Pam groaned. "Ohhhhh….god…."

Jim pushed her sweaty hair from her face and dropped kisses all over her cheeks and eyes before bringing his lips to hers, kissing slowly, gently.

"So perfect," he murmured. "So sexy. I love you."

Pam chuckled weakly. "I love you too," she told him. "I love you so much."

She sighed and buried her face in his neck. They lay in silence, coming back down to Earth as he softened inside her.

When he slipped out of her and their combined juices flooded from between her thighs, Jim shifted them to a safe spot on the storeroom floor, adjusted their clothes a bit, and pulled her head to his chest.

She ran lazy fingers around his heart and he stroked her hair, letting his lips form words like "love" and "Pam" and "beautiful" against the top of her head until a loud, rumbling growl filled the near-silence and they both burst out laughing.

"Is the beast demanding to be fed?" Jim teased, reaching down to rub Pam's stomach affectionately.

"Shut up," she groaned. "You know this happens."

He did, he did. He thought the fact that Pam absolutely had to be fed within 30 minutes of sex was positively adorable.

"Burgers and fries?" He asked, pulling them both up to a sitting position. He'd known Pam long enough to know that when her stomach - the beast - made demands, everything else, including work, including cuddling, including sex, had to wait.

She shook her head. "Pad Thai."

Jim kissed her cheek and started to get up. "I'll call to place the order," he said.

She grasped his hand. "It's faster if you just go pick it up." She gazed up at him, wide eyed.

The little minx.

"Ohhhh…" he intoned, sitting back down and leaning in to give her Eskimo kisses, brushing his nose against hers. "I get it. You think you just have me wrapped around your finger, don't you?"

Pam let a wide, slow smile stretch across her face, her finger tracing his jaw line.

"Yep," she whispered, her breath ticking his skin. It was so amazing, being here, like this, with him. She was so, completely, deliciously in love with him.

And he was so, completely, deliciously in love with her. He moved to kiss her lips.

"Yeah," he whispered back, kissing the words into her mouth. "You do."


	22. Chapter 22

Feb. 14, 2006

"Mom, if this whole thing falls apart, I'm dead." Jim's voice was tense through the phone.

Bill, recently retired and still not wholly sure what to do with himself, wandered through the kitchen.

"What's the matter with James?" he queried, hearing his son through the speaker phone.

"He's cooking Valentine's dinner for Pam," Larissa replied, looking up from the fabric samples she was perusing for a client.

"Thank you, Mom," Jim sighed , "because I can't speak for myself."

Larissa ignored his sarcasm as Bill chuckled.

"Valentine's Day, eh? I guess that is today." He bent to drop a kiss on Larissa's cheek, making her smile affectionately. "So cooking, eh Jim?"

Jim scowled at the spring form pan in front of him. "Trying to, Dad," he replied. "That's why-"

"That Pam's a pretty special girl," Bill observed as Larissa sat, trying to discern between ecru, wheat and beige.

Any other time. Any other time Jim would have been thrilled to have a good chat about Pam with his dad, but he was on a schedule. It was already 3:00. If everything wasn't ready by the time Pam got home, his sudden attack of "food poisoning" right after lunch would have been all for naught.

"Yeah, Dad," said Jim, "she's amazing. So I'm really trying-"

"James, are you using protection?" Bill interrupted him suddenly.

He must have done something in a former life.

"What, like oven mitts?" Jim answered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Don't be fresh, young man," Larissa snapped, not looking up from her samples.

Jim rolled his eyes at the empty kitchen in front of him. "Yes ma'am," he sighed. He took a breath. "And yes, Father, to the protection question. God knows I haven't forgotten Mom's promise to liberate me from my very manhood should I inadvertently inseminate the girl. Yes, all precautions are being taken, thank you."

"That's good," Bill said, "because you want to wait until you're sure you're ready before you-"

"Dad, I think we had this talk about ten years ago," Jim reminded him. "Remember? There was a banana? It was horribly awkward and painful, kind of like this?"

Bill rolled his eyes and nudged his wife. "He gets that smart mouth from you."

Larissa nodded. She wasn't going to deny it. Her youngest was just like her.

"Guys?" He sounded on edge, at least, what qualified as on edge for easygoing Jim, a sign, Larissa knew, that he was anxious for tonight to go off without a hitch. "I really just need to know how to take this cake out of the pan without killing it."

"What's he making?" Bill asked.

Larissa grinned. "My flourless raspberry chocolate cake."

She wasn't sure of the last time she'd seen her husband look so…turned on.

Jim surveyed his handiwork.

A vase of deep pink roses, lilies and tulips stood on the TV table

Vanilla scented candles were flickering on the counter that divided the kitchen area from the rest of the space. Another large candle was lit on the bedside table.

The bed was made with new sheets and sprinkled with rose petals.

Michael Buble was crooning from the CD player.

A sumptuous feast, at least as sumptuous a feast as Jim was able to create, was set out on the tiny card table, which he'd covered with a white cloth. There was roast chicken with dried cherries and red wine risotto, and salad with strawberries and parmesan. The chocolate cake was chilling in the refrigerator and a bottle of Pinot Grigio, Pam's favorite, was breathing on the drain board.

The only thing missing… was Pam.

Jim tapped his foot impatiently. Where was the girl? She was supposed to be home 20 minutes ago?

His phone rang.

"Where are you?" He answered.

"Where are you?" She replied back.

"I'm at your place. Where are you?" He hoped she hadn't gotten stuck at work again.

Pam laughed.

"I'm at your place," she replied sheepishly.

"I love you," he told her. "I'll see you soon."

He began covering up the food and putting it away. It would keep until tomorrow night.

"Holy crap," Jim exclaimed, stepping into his apartment. "Did Valentine's Day throw up in here?"

Blinking glittery pink lights in the shape of hearts were strung up around the border of the studio apartment.

Pink, red and white balloons hung from the ceiling.

Pink and purple streamers hung down one wall. Another one was literally papered with dime store Valentines, the kind from kindergarten.

There was a bowl of some sort of fruit punch concoction with what must have been three jars of maraschino cherries floating in it. Bowls of candy hearts, red M&M's, Hershey kisses, pink and red Starbust, a huge platter of Valentine-themed marshmallow Peeps, and a plate of heavily-iced heart-shaped cookies were scattered about.

A pair of giant teddy bears flanked an equally giant monkey on the sofa. One bear held a heart that proclaimed "I love you beary much." The other held a heart bearing the simple message "Be Mine." The monkey's heart, of course, read "I'm bananas over you."

"Islands in the Stream" played from his laptop speakers.

And in the middle of it all was Pam, grinning at him in a pink strapless dress with a frothy full skirt, her hair falling around her shoulders, her eyes shining.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" she cried, bounding toward him like a cheerleader and quite literally leaping into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist as her lips slammed into his.

"Mmmmmm…" Jim stumbled backward, trying to kiss her, hold her up and keep them both from falling over backward at once. He found the closest stability point - the wall next to the door, and leaned against it.

Okay, now he could concentrate a little better on the kissing. Jim ran his tongue along Pam's lips. She tasted like strawberries.

She moaned quietly, opening her mouth, and he slid his tongue in.

They kissed for a minute, Pam's legs wrapped around Jim's waist, her arms around his neck and his hands under her behind, holding her up.

Then a giggle burst from her, like a soap bubble, and another and another, until she was full on laughing into his mouth.

"Okay, Miss Giggles," Jim demanded, pulling back. "What's going on?"

She laughed harder, throwing her head back. "Your face," she cried, "when you came in here and saw this ridiculousness." She mimicked his affectionate, confounded expression. "Holy crap! Did Valentine's Day throw up in here?"

Apparently Pam thought he sounded kind of like Andre the Giant.

"Well," Jim informed her, placing her back on her feet, "I was a little surprised to see such an elaborate display from Miss "Valentine's Day is Capitalist Crock" Beesly."

Pam narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "Okay," she grumbled, "I confess. I kind of like Valentine's Day."

"You don't say!" Jim exclaimed, sarcasm pouring out of his mouth. He crossed his arms over his chest, smirking at her.

Pam sneered. "It is a capitalist crock though," she clarified. "And made to put unnecessary pressure on people, whether you're in a relationship or not."

"But you still get kind of swept up in it," Jim teased gently. "Nice of you to finally admit it. I still remember the one year I didn't send you some crappy drug store chocolates, you were suddenly too busy to talk to me for about a week."

He felt an odd seize in his stomach as Pam's face fell. "What?" he asked.

"Your first Valentine's with Karen," she told him softly. "I thought you hadn't sent me the stupid candy because you'd finally found someone you wanted and you didn't need a back up girl anymore."

She was insane.

"You're crazy," he said, moving toward her to slip his arms around her waist and press his forehead to hers. "You've never been a back up girl, not ever. Even before we knew we were going to be this," he kissed her lips passionately for emphasis, "you were always the number one person in my life."

Jim was good. So good. He knew just how to make her feel like her knees were made of marshmallows. The soft way he was placing kisses on her cheek made shivers run up her back.

"Do you know how long I've loved you ?" he whispered against her ear.

Honestly?

"No idea," she told him, laughing a little at the tickling feeling from his breath against her sensitive skin.

Jim laughed. "Actually, neither do I," he admitted. "I know I've loved you since long before we actually ever got together, but I can't really pinpoint a time. I'm sure the moms would say it was at some point when we were still running around in diapers."

Pam burst out laughing. "Yeah, you're probably right."

He pulled away, holding her at arms length and taking in the sight of Pam in her ruffled, frothy pink dress, her cheeks shining.

"You're so pretty," he told her.

She blushed. "I look like a strawberry milkshake."

"Yes," he concurred. "But I'd drink you all up."

Okay, that? That was bad.

Pam groaned. " Two minutes in the penalty box, Halpert," she informed him. "Total cheese ball offense."

He nodded. He deserved it. But then again, looking around his tricked out apartment, so did she.

"Judges rule same penalty to Beesly."

Pam smirked and nodded, letting him lead her to the sofa. The stuffed animals were quickly relegated to the floor. Jim laughed when Pam waited for him to sit down, then dropped gracefully on to his lap, curling up like a cat and tilting her chin toward him expectantly.

"Oh, did you want to be kissed?" Jim teased. "I'm sorry. There's no kissing in the penalty box."

Yeah, Pam wasn't having any of that.

"Kiss me," she threatened him. "Or I'll give you a penalty called Jim's not getting laid until St. Patrick's Day."

Well, that wouldn't do. Jim leaned in quickly.

"Nicely played," he muttered against her lips, before capturing them with his. He could feel her smug grin against his mouth. Jim laughed ruefully into their kiss.

"You're such a little brat," he informed her, feasting on her neck. She squirmed, situating her knees on either side of his waist and began nibbling his earlobe. "You - Jesus, that feels good - ought to be spanked." He swatted ineffectually at her through the layers of tulle under her skirt.

Pam laughed. "Nice try," she joked. "Beesly, one. Halpert, zero."

Jim growled playfully and plunged his hands beneath her skirt, cupping her backside and pulling her strongly into him, smirking at the sound of her squeal. She gasped when he suddenly slipped his fingers into her panties and kept going, finding her warm and wet.

Amazing.

"Already?" he asked her, twisting his fingers inside her.

"Oh, like you're not enjoying yourself," Pam retorted, pushing her hips against his rapidly growing erection for emphasis.

Valid point she had.

Jim withdrew his fingers and sucked them quickly into his mouth, loving the taste of her.

Beesly, one. Halpert, like, forty.

Holy. God.

It drove her crazy to see him do that. It was so…intimate. So sensual. So hot.

She had to have him. Now.

Quickly, Pam lifted her hips, making quick work of Jim's belt and zipper.

"You eager little monkey," Jim teased. "Am I just some sex toy to you?"

Pam swiped her tongue over his lips. "Yes," she informed him. "The Rabbit died. And not in a pregnancy sort of way."

Jim half laughed, half gasped as she freed him from his boxers, her hand stroking up and down.

"Uhhh," he groaned, kneading her ass with his hands. "You have a Rabbit? Why didn't I know about this?"

Pam moved to kiss him again. "Because," she mumbled between kisses. "Most women don't make a habit of discussing their collection of battery operated fake penises with their boyfriends."

Valid point. Though everything was a little hazy at the moment. But he could resist teasing her about one thing.

"Collection?" he queried, running the tip of his tongue along her jaw. "I thought it was just - JESUS CHRIST!"

He screamed out as Pam, without warning or fanfare, pushed herself down on to his own very real, very flesh and blood penis, engulfing it in her wet heat.

"Hey, your Baptist neighbor will think you finally found the Lord," she exclaimed proudly.

His 89-year-old neighbor probably had heard him. Awesome.

"You think you're pretty clever, don't you?" he asked, preventing her from responding by pressing his lips to hers.

He lifted his hips, plunging deeper into her and making her scream out things that would definitely not be appropriate in Mrs. Morrison's church.

"I want to see," she begged him. "I want to see."

Every now and again, Pam just loved looking at where their bodies joined during sex. The sight of him disappearing into her was incredibly arousing, for both of them. But Jim just loved the way Pam would clench and flutter, growing even more wet, when she saw that juncture.

He helped her push up her skirt, pressing it back so she could see over the fluff.

"God," Pam groaned as she looked down. Jim's swollen, reddened erection moved in and out of her, shiny with her moisture.

She thought she could almost come just from looking at it.

"I love you." Jim was still looking at Pam's face, loving how fascinated and aroused she looked, seeing their bodies.

"I love your penis," she replied happily, still staring at it with a look like she'd discovered water in a desert.

He laughed out loud. "Thank you," he retorted, twitching the object of her current affection in a way that made her squeak with pleasure. "I love your vagina. But interesting response to my declaration."

Pam groaned and pushed his head down. "Look," she demanded. "Look how hot it is."

He looked. And while he didn't quite share her opinion of his own anatomy, the sight of it moving in and out of her was, indeed, very, very hot.

But he also noticed something else.

In her haste, Pam hadn't taken the time to remove her underwear, just push it aside. Now that he could see the garment with her skirt held up, he could see that it was white, dotted with pink hearts.

Valentine panties.

Wow.

Jim kissed her and fingered the cloth as she rode astride him.

"You," he said with fascination, "are so fucking cute."


	23. Chapter 23

2007

"There is," Jim announced, surveying the carton filled space, "no way in any circle of Hell that all this stuff is going to end up fitting in here. None."

From her position on the living room floor next to the window, Pam groaned. "Just unpack the essentials and then we'll stack the rest of the boxes along the walls," she suggested.

"Like a bomb shelter?"

She started to nod, but decided it took too much effort, so she grunted instead. Jim took the sound as a yes and joined her, stretching his six foot, three inch body prone on the hardwood floor.

"Who moves in the middle of August?" Pam groaned, kicking him away from her. Seriously, didn't Jim know that she didn't need his ridiculous body heat right now?

"People whose leases end in August," Jim pointed out, adding, "Miss Whinypants."

Pam lolled her head to the side to stick her tongue out at him. "I'm not wearing pants," she pointed out.

Nor was he. Both were dressed in gym shorts and t-shirts. Jim was wearing a Terps baseball cap and Pam had her hair pulled up off her sticky neck in a messy bun.

They'd spent the last seven hours making trips in a rented van, trekking between Pam's East Village studio, Jim's Morningside Heights efficiency, and the Murray Hill one bedroom they were moving into.

Two months earlier, they'd realized during a conversation in Jim's bed that they hadn't spent a night apart in almost 7 weeks.

With both their leases ending in August, it made sense, it seemed, to not renew and look for an apartment together.

Two months earlier

Jim's bed

"It's a big step," Pam said, running her fingertips through the hair on Jim's chest.

He nodded, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "It is," he agreed, "but it makes sense. And I think we're ready for it, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do." She hesitated. "But moving in together comes with… expectations."

Expectations? Jim raised an eyebrow. "You have… expectations?"

She could feel him smirking and slapped at his chest.

"I have…" she hesitated, and Jim squeezed her around the waist, encouraging her to go on. "Hopes," she admitted. "The expectations are going to be more from outside parties."

"Outside parties named Joan and Larissa?"

"And Ed and Bill," Pam went on, "and Pam and Elyse, Pete, Holly and Michael…"

Jim sighed. "You're right," he agreed. "Too many people. We better call the whole thing off."

"Jim!" Pam cried, smacking him again.

He caught her hand. "Woman, quit abusing me." He shook his head. "I swear."

"To the moon, Alice?"

"To the moon, Pamela," he agreed, nodding sagely.

She lifted her head from his chest to look up at him. "Honestly, though," she said. "How do you feel about…?"

Jim reached down and pulled Pam up so they were eye to eye. "It's what I want," he promised. "Just…" He looked away.

"Just not now," Pam finished. Her tone was emotionless, and he couldn't bring himself to look back at her yet.

"Is that okay?"

Pam scoffed. "Oh god, yes," she said, and Jim turned his head. "Jim, I love you, but we're 27. We both barely stay afloat. I want to throw up when I write a rent check. I can't cook. You pee in the kitchen sink…"

"One time," he interrupted. "One time and I was drunk and I really had to go and you wouldn't let me in the bathroom."

She fixed him with an incredulous look. "So you could, what? Pee in the bathroom sink? Or the shower?"

"It would have been at least in the vicinity," he argued.

She shook her head. "Just so we're clear," she informed him, "if we do this whole moving in thing, we're not going to start peeing in front of each other. That's a sure sign that the romance is just dead."

"What romance?"

That remark earned Jim a kick to the shins.

"Ah!" He cried. "Okay, I have unmarriable urination habits, what else?"

Pam laughed. "I love you," she told him, "but I don't think marriage is just a piece of paper or changing your name, or saying "my husband" instead of "my boyfriend." I think it's about being selfless and putting someone else first, letting them do for you… and I honestly think I have to grow up more before I can be the kind of wife that I'd want to be to you. Or anyone. I mean, I just…"

She was effectively silenced by Jim's lips.

"I love you," he informed her. "And I know I can't get to have everything I want with you unless we work on it. So…let's work on it in the same space. Let's try. I think we're ready for that. Do you?"

Pam peeked at him through her eyelashes, nodding.

"Okay, then," Jim said. He took a deep breath. "Then…" he crawled out of the bed and kneeled down on the floor.

"Jim…" Pam sounded alarmed. He reached for her hand.

"Pamela Morgan Beesly," Jim began formally. "You've been my best friend and my confidant all my life. I love you. Will you please do me the honor of shacking up with me?"

Pam cracked up. He was so funny, proposing that they "shack up" like that. He may as well have asked her to be his free milk.

Also, he was naked.

"I think I just fell in love with you all over again," she told him, her smile taking over her whole face.

He smiled back, just as big. "Is that a yes?"

She nodded. "Yes, Jim, I will live in sin with you."

He leaned over to kiss her passionately, letting his tongue stroke hers before climbing back into the bed and gathered Pam to his side.

"In sin, huh?" he smirked. "We ought to go light a candle or something."

She rolled her eyes. "Jim, neither one of us has been inside a church since high school."

"True," he agreed. "Well, we may as well go for broke then. Bastard baby, here we come." He moved toward her as if to start the process immediately.

"Whoa there cowboy," Pam warned. "You just keep that baby maker of yours-" she tugged at it for emphasis, "under wraps."

He pinched her behind in retaliation. "Yeah, but we don't always wrap," he reminded her. "You employ the Tolkien method."

Oh, Jim.

"The Nuva Ring," Pam informed him, "is not the same thing as Lord of the Rings. Not even close."

Jim nodded. "Whatever you say, dear," he agreed. He figured it was good practice for when they would be living together, and for down the line when…if…when…one step at a time.

They lay in silence for a while, Pam tracing her fingernails over Jim's abdomen, Jim playing with the curls splayed out around Pam's shoulder blades.

"Jim?" she murmured.

"Hmmm?"

"Have you ever noticed that our fathers' names are Bill and Ed?"

Jim helped a groaning Pam to her feet.

"Come on," he said, wiping the sweat out of his eyes. "Hopefully this is the last run."

Pam's apartment

"That's the last of it," Jim called, walking back inside Pam's empty studio. Pam was nowhere to be found. "Where are you?"

"In here," she called.

Jim walked to the tiny kitchen. There was Pam. She turned around and looked at him. It was the calmest he'd seen her all day. Her face grew soft and he knew where she was.

He was there too.

He walked toward her purposefully, sliding his arms around her waist and bending down to capture her lips with his. He felt her smile against his lips as her mouth opened to him and he slid his tongue inside as her arms stole up and around his neck. She rose up on her toes, pressing her body flush against his.

When their lips parted she gazed up at him.

"You changed my life in this kitchen," she whispered.

December, 2003

Pam's kitchen

He had no concept of time. No idea what the hour is, or even the day. He had no idea how long he's been kissing Pam.

But he's wholly, completely aware that he's Kissing Pam.

It wasn't technically the first kiss. They'd kissed before. Not for a long time, but a few times, they'd kissed.

And then some.

But this? This was a different kiss.

It ended with a soft, wet sound and they slowly blinked their way back to awareness.

"Wow," Pam whispered.

"Yeah," Jim agreed.

They were still locked in a loose embrace. Pam's eyes were wide and shining and he could see himself reflected in her dilated pupils.

"That was…"

"I love you," he cut her off.

He hadn't known he was going to say that. Pam's irises were almost invisible by now, just black.

"We should talk about…" she began.

He knew he probably should be panicking, or freaking out that she was going to give him some speech that involved the words "love" and "friend" and "brother," but right now he just didn't care. If that was going to come, it could wait. Right now, Jim was in a perfect moment.

He wasn't ready to let go of it yet.

"We should," he agreed. "But not now."

He pulled her in close again, wrapping his arms around her body in a tight hug. She reached her arms as far as they would go around his neck and pressed her forehead to his shoulder.

Jim closed his eyes and lowered his face into her hair, breathing deeply. Her hair smelled like tangerines. Pam always liked to change the scents of her shampoos and lotions for the season and Christmas, she said, was the time for tangerines. She liked vanilla in January, strawberries in spring, coconut in July…

"I love you," she whispered in his ear.

He pulled back to look at her. "What?"

"I love you," she repeated, and he didn't have to ask her how she meant it. He just kissed her again.

Somehow, they managed to make their way out of the kitchen and to the little alcove with Pam's bed without killing either one of them. Falling on to it, they stretched out on their sides, facing each other.

Unable to resist, Pam stole another kiss. Jim allowed the thievery willingly.

"I guess we should talk," he said quietly, stretching his arm over his head. Pam mirrored his position and their fingers brushed. "This is all new."

"Is it?" she asked him. "It's kind of been there all along."

He loved how honest she was, especially with him. And yet how undemanding. Some girls were coy, expecting a man to guess everything she was thinking. Others were, well, ball busters, telling him exactly what was expected of him and practically barking out orders.

And sure, Pam busted his balls. But in the best way possible.

"What do you want?" She asked, looking right at him. He knew he could tell her anything, anything, and no matter what, she'd still be his best friend.

That's why he could tell her the truth.

"I want to be with you," he said honestly. "And I know it should feel weird or incestuous, but it doesn't. I think I've wanted you for a long time."

No one had ever meant to her what Jim did. There was no one who made her laugh so much, no one who protected her the way Jim did. There was no one else who drove her so completely up the wall she wanted to put her foot up his ass, and no one who encouraged her and believed in her as much as he did. There was no one she trusted the way she trusted Jim, the way she'd always trusted Jim.

"I want you too."

The words were barely out of her mouth before they were kissing again, this time with a fevered edge.

He tasted the side of her neck as he pushed his hands up under her sweater and ran his hands up her back.

She felt her stomach flutter as she unbuttoned his dress shirt and eased it off his shoulders. It had been a long time since she'd gotten butterflies.

He weighed her lace-covered breasts in his palms, bending to run his lips over the tops of their swells.

"Jim," she whimpered.

He raised his head to look in her eyes. She looked happy, nervous, wild and shy. He stroked his thumb over her cheek and smiled. She tilted her head and he leaned in and kissed her lips.

Somehow both pairs of their pants ended up on the floor and they lay, mostly undressed, hands and lips roaming. Jim undid the hook of Pam's bra and pulled it down her arms, leaving her bared to him.

She had beautiful breasts, round and full with speckled pink nipples that stood out from the pale skin. She gasped as he bent to take one in his mouth.

He knew she could feel him through his boxers, hard against her leg. He sucked on her nipples, massaging her hips with his hands. He felt her press her pelvis against him, and oh god, even through her underwear, he could feel that she was wet.

She began to push his boxers down, but encountered a hindrance. Laughing a bit, Jim stopped the work he was doing on her breasts.

"Need a hand there?" he joked.

Pam looked pointedly at his tented shorts. "Looks like you might," she quipped.

He grinned. "Okay, well, Pam," he started, "I don't want you to freak out like that time in college, so I just want to you to be prepared; I do have a penis."

She smirked and reached down to stroke it through the cotton of his boxers. He gulped. Holy God, that felt amazing.

"Consider me duly warned," she said, her voice almost gravelly.

She pushed the garment down and he helped kick it off, leaving him naked. She took in the sight before her. He was long and lean, with a line of definition running down the center of his abdomen and a generous, but not overwhelming sprinkling of hair on his chest. Of course, she'd seen him without his shirt on, but she'd never really looked.

And, yes, Jim definitely had a penis. A really, really good one. Not that she'd seen a ton of them, but she wasn't utterly without comparison. And his was good. It was long and thick without being overwhelming and it lay on his lower abdomen, pointing straight up.

Pam snuggled into his body and reached down. He was warm, hard and heavy in her hand and she felt a flutter between her legs when she touched him.

"Holy fucking God," he swore and slipped his hand down over her panties, feeling the heat of her body emanating through them. He pushed his fingers inside, finding her hot and, shit, so wet.

"Oh god," she gasped, squeezing him as Jim twisted and twirled his fingers inside her. If possible, his cock was even harder than it had previously been, and all Pam knew was that she wanted it inside her.

"Fuck me," she gasped. "Please. I want you so much."

He wanted her too, but there was something he had to do first. Withdrawing his fingers, he slid her panties down her legs and kissed his way back up her thighs. He could smell her as he got closer and she smelled so amazing.

As he reached the juncture of her thighs, he opened his mouth, breathing warm air over her.

She moaned and clutched at the sheets and he swiped his tongue up and down her folds, tasting her sweet earthiness. She tasted so good. This was definitely one of Jim's favorite parts of sex. He loved, loved, loved going down on women. Loved it.

Pam loved what he was doing too. She moaned and squirmed, her toes pressing into the mattress, her fingers twisting in the blankets. Her neck arched and her breasts were thrust upward. She ripened, feeling herself grow wetter. Her clitoris swelled and blossomed, presenting itself to Jim.

He kissed it, then sucked lightly. He circled the bud lightly with his tongue. He brushed it with his lips, then lay his tongue flat, stroking it.

"Jim," Pam panted. "Jim, stop."

"It's okay," he whispered, not lifting his head. "It's okay, just relax."

She pulled him up forcibly. "I want to come with you inside me."

"Yeah, if there were an award for not prematurely ejaculating, I would have gotten it that night," Jim declared. "Trophy, medal, chest to pin it on, the whole nine."

Pam laughed and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Yes, you are the champion orgasm controller," she said.

He pinched her waist. "Better that you," he boasted, "Ms. Quick on the Draw."

"Just sometimes!"

She swatted at him and he grabbed her around the waist, picking her up and setting her on the counter. He settled himself between her legs and brushed his nose to her cheek.

"I loved everything," he said, "everything about that night. I remember thinking it was the last way I'd expected my day to end up, but that it was perfect."

Pam pressed her forehead to his. "It wasn't weird," she recalled, "was it, going from best friends to lovers like that?"

Jim shrugged. "We're still best friends. And maybe, maybe somewhere below the surface, we've always been lovers."

She leaned in and kissed his lips, lingering for a long moment. Pulling back, she stroked his cheek with her thumb, looking at him softly, with eyes full of love.

"That," she murmured, "makes absolutely no fucking sense whatsoever."

Later that night, the new apartment

"Ugh," Pam whined, stretched out the mattress they'd stashed on the living room floor, too unmotivated to put the bed frame together that night. "This is way too much effort. Can you chew my pizza for me?"

Jim dropped the slice in his hand into the box they had in front of them. "You want to just go to sleep?"

She shook her head. "No. Food," she growled at him.

He laughed. Man, he loved that girl. He took the slice of pizza from her hand and tore off a small piece, placing it in her mouth.

"Better?" he chuckled, and she nodded, her eyes closed. He fed her a few more bites and then put the slice down and kissed a spot of sauce off her lips.

"I'm going to take a shower," he announced, dragging himself off the mattress. He was almost at the bathroom door when he called back to her.

"You feel like joining me?"

Next door, Apartment 10C

Brenda Glick and her roommate Gwynnie Diskin looked at each other and giggled.

"Welcome, new neighbors," Brenda quipped.

Gwynnie laughed and reached for the remote control, turning up the volume so they could hear "How I Met Your Mother."

The walls were really way too thin.


	24. Chapter 24

September 2008

Jim Halpert wasn't a man who believed in signs.

He believed in deciding what you wanted, figuring out how to get it, and then working until you could. If he couldn't get what he wanted, he believed in finding something else to want.

But he was starting to wonder if somebody, somewhere, was trying to tell him something.

For three months, he'd been hiding the ring, a spectacular feat considering he and Pam shared a 600 square foot apartment.

Truth be told, he hadn't really decided to propose at any particular time. Sure, there was the latent knowledge that it would most likely happen eventually, but things had been going well. The marriage issue, well, it really didn't seem like an issue.

The whole thing was sort of on the backburner.

Until, that is, the strawberry pie incident.

June 2008

"That smells amazing," Jim commented, leaning against the wall as Pam pulled the pie out of the oven.

She'd had a fit of domesticity that morning and insisted they go to the Union Square Greenmarket, where she'd happily purchased two pints of strawberries. Then she'd insisted on making a strawberry pie, despite never having made anything remotely resembling a pie, unless microwaving one that started with the words "chicken pot" counted.

But miracle of miracles, it seemed to have worked. The crust was golden and the air smelled lightly of the cinnamon she'd sprinkled on top.

"Plate," Pam ordered, and Jim obliged.

She cut into the pie and started to work a slice out on to the plate. As Pam wrestled the piece of pie toward the plate, she tilted the pie slightly.

That's when it happened.

A piece of the crust where she'd cut dislodged, landing on the plate that Jim was holding, followed by some fragrant, if runny, filling.

The rest of the filling slithered out of the hole in the crust, strawberries and all, sliding down Pam's light blue summer skirt and on to her white Keds.

She looked from the still intact crust in the tin she held, to her shoes, to Jim, back to the tin, back to her feet, and back to Jim again.

No sound came from her mouth; she just gaped in frustration, and she looked so adorably aghast and offended that Jim fell in love all over again, so hard it actually hurt, and he nearly blurted out: "Marry me."

He'd bought a ring the next day.

Since then, he'd tried to propose several times, but something kept tripping him up.

First, there was the romantic dinner he'd intended to cook. He'd been so nervous at the prospect of proposing that he'd accidentally set the oven to broil instead of bake and had nearly burned down the apartment.

Then there was the picnic in Central Park. They'd been sitting on the blanket, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder, enjoying the sun and the strangely peaceful chaos around them. She'd looked adoringly at him and he'd kissed her forehead. It was perfect.

Then the kid on the blanket a few feet away threw up.

So that kind of killed the mood.

He took her out for a walk, late one night in August, in those hours between nighttime and morning when the humidity is tempered and the streets are empty.

Almost empty.

A strung out looking man, probably younger than they were, had approached and demanded their money and Pam's jewelry. He hadn't appeared to be armed, but Jim wasn't taking any chances. He handed over his cash, his watch and had removed the gold necklace from around Pam's throat when her hands shook too much to do it herself.

The ring, fortunately, had gone undetected in the pocket of his jeans.

He'd made reservations this weekend to take her a Bed and Breakfast in Saratoga. The innkeeper had just phoned.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Halpert," she'd said, and she had truly sounded apologetic, "there was a mix up last night and I'm afraid a family checked into the room you'd reserved for the weekend."

There were no other availabilities, and despite his opinion that whomever had been working the previous night ought to be out of a job, Jim was certainly not going to suggest that the woman kick a family out of their hotel room. He told her he'd accept the offer of a complimentary night's stay in the future and hung up the phone.

"Fuck!" He yelled.

Pam peered around the doorway from the bathroom, her glasses on, her toothbrush dangling from her mouth.

"What?" she slurred. "You think you can just command it and I'll come running?" She looked at his face. "What's wrong?"

"They gave away our room."

Pam held up a finger, turned to spit, and turned back to him.

"Well, that blows," she announced. "We'll find somewhere else to stay."

She gave him a minty kiss and grabbed the small bag containing snacks and CD's.

"Come on Halpert," she called. "That suitcase isn't going to carry itself."

A torrential downpour had slowed traffic on the New York State Thruway, making Jim thoroughly regret the four grape sodas he'd gulped down. The constant patterning and swishing of the rain was doing nothing to help his predicament either. By the time he was able to pull off at the rest stop outside Coxsackie, he was cursing a blue streak through his gritted teeth.

Pam filled up the car while Jim ran inside and practically barked at the cashier for the men's room key. Once relieved, he paid for a bag of Sun Chips and more sodas (he'd only have one, two max, before they arrived and found a place to stay), thanked the man in a far more pleasant tone than the one he'd had upon entering, and pushed back out into the rain, holding his hoodie over his head for protection, running toward Pam.

She stood in the median between the fuel pumps, waiting for him. The rain sleeted sideways, soaking her. She shook her hair out of her face, laughing, and looked up at him.

"If you didn't have the bladder of a six-year-old," she accused him, "I could have stayed dry in the car. I'm all wet because of you, so you have to buy lunch."

She was so fucking cute. He loved her so much.

He had to. That second.

Jim dropped everything in his hands - the chips, the sodas, his sweatshirt and his wallet - to the ground and knelt on the soaked cement, in a puddle actually, feeling the water seeping into the knee of his jeans.

Pam stared at him. "What are you doing?"

He looked up at her, his heart racing. "I just, I can't wait."

Her mouth went dry. "Oh my god."

Jim took a breath and pulled the box out of his pocket, opening it up. "Pam, will you marry me?"

"Oh my god!"

Yeah, she had to say something else. He was pretty sure he'd die there on the ground otherwise.

"So?" he prompted.

Pam looked from Jim, to the ring, back to Jim again. She nodded wildly. "Yes," she said, nodding enthusiastically, her voice starting to break. "Yes!"

In a flash he was on his feet and his lips were on hers. She laughed into his mouth and the rain wasn't even an afterthought.

The phone picked up after two rings.

"Hi, baby," Joan answered

Pam grinned. "Mom, guess what?"

"He finally did it," Joan replied knowingly. "Congratulations, baby girl."

Pam shook her head. "Wait, you… you knew?"

June 2008

The Beesly Home, Scranton

"Jim!" Joan exclaimed, greeting him with a hug. "Come on in. Your mother didn't tell me you were visiting this weekend. Where's Pammy?"

He shook his head and followed her to the kitchen.

"Mom doesn't know I'm here," he admitted. "And I told Pam I was meeting some guys from school in Atlantic City this weekend."

Joan raised her eyebrows at him over the iced tea she was pouring.

"I came to talk to you and Ed," Jim confessed, his stomach twisting a bit. He loved Ed and Joan almost as much as his own parents, but this wasn't an easy conversation for any man to have.

"I thought I heard voices," Ed called, walking into the room. He spotted the young man sitting at the counter.

"Jim," he exclaimed, reaching to shake hands. "This is a surprise. Where's Pam?"

Joan lifted an eyebrow, pouring another glass of tea. "Jim's come to have a talk with us," she informed her husband.

His look echoed his wife's. "A talk, eh, James?"

Jim gulped. "Yes, sir."

Ed laughed heartily. "Jim, in 28 years, I don't think you've ever called me sir."

He shook his head and looked from Jim to Joan, her eyes a little shiny, back to Jim again. Ed sighed.

"So this is that talk, is it?"

"He asked you and Dad?" Pam's voice cracked. She looked over at Jim, who had one eye on the road and the other on her.

Joan laughed. "He was so adorable," she recalled. "His voice kept shaking, like he thought we were going to say he wasn't allowed to marry you."

Marry! Pam's heart leapt.

"I'm so happy, Mom," she whispered.

Not three minutes after Pam had hung up with Joan, her phone rang again. She looked at the ID screen.

"It's your mother," she told Jim. She pressed the Call button to answer.

"Larissa?"

"Mom," came the teary voice through the phone. "You call me Mom."

Pam pressed her hand to her mouth and glanced over at Jim, her heart full. She nodded a few times.

"Okay, Mom."

Jim turned to look at Pam, half-laughing, half-crying, chattering away to his mother. She was damp, her hair limp and frizzy around her cheeks. Her mascara smudged on her cheeks.

She was absolutely beautiful.


	25. Chapter 25

March 2009

Scranton, Pa.

There were literally a million kinds of flowers. And Pam was pretty sure she'd looked at about seventeen thousand of them that morning.

The florist kept rattling off words she didn't understand, like astilbe, Agapathus, virburnum and stephanotis.

Her head was about to explode.

"Those ones," she blurted out suddenly, pointing to some yellowish orange roses tipped in red. "I want to carry those." She looked around. "And sunflowers for the tables."

Miss Gretchen the 80-year-old florist started chattering away about "accent flowers" as Pam's phone mercifully rang. She got up to answer it, not even bothering to excuse herself as her mother and Miss Gretchen kept on going.

"Save me, save me, save me, save me."

Jim laughed. "Having fun with Miss Gretchen?"

Pam growled into the phone. "She keeps saying words that mean nothing to me. I think they're names of flowers, but I honestly don't know. And I had to spend 20 minutes explaining to her that no, I do not want a white wedding, because my name is not Billy Idol!"

Jim laughed. "Poor Pam."

She pouted at the phone. "Can we elope?"

"Can Elvis marry us?"

Pam sighed. "At this point, I might say yes. Why didn't anyone tell me that wedding planning makes people insane?"

Jim grinned affectionately as he signaled to change lanes. "Well, the one up of wedding planning is that it involves sampling lots of different kinds of cake with your fiance, who might even give you a massage tonight to help get rid of that stress."

He drove a hard bargain, that Jim.

"Does this massage come with a happy ending?" she asked slyly, keeping her voice low.

She could almost hear Jim shaking his head. "Pamela Morgan Beesly," he scolded, "we're staying at your parents' house tonight."

She shrugged. "We'll be quiet."

Jim knew she was half right. "No, I'll be quiet," he corrected her. "You'll say you'll be quiet and then you'll force me to come up with some lie on the spot like the time you screamed when my brother was staying with us and I had to say you saw a mouse. Thank you for that, by the way. Pete still asks me if I've moused you lately."

Pam laughed. "Well, you can mouse me tonight if you want, mister," she whispered saucily. "In fact, you can mouse me in the car after we cake taste if you want."

Jim turned on the air conditioner full blast to combat the heat shooting through his veins. He was pretty sure walking into a bakery partially aroused wasn't really a socially acceptable thing to do.

"Speaking of which," he informed her. "I'm on my way there."

The air smelled of cookies and pies as Jim pushed through the door of the little bakery.

The empty little bakery.

"Hello?" he called out. "Anyone here?"

"Be right there," a voice called out from the back.

Jim leaned on the counter and waited. Pam should be along in a minute or so. It was hard to believe they'd be married in seven months. They'd been a couple more than five years at this point, and sometimes he still couldn't believe that she was his. Going from friends to more always seemed to be a point of disaster on television, but for he and Pam, it had just felt like adding more whipped cream to the kick ass sundae that was their friendship.

Sure, they had the typical fights and disagreements. She could be temperamental and moody. He would forget to do simple things like pay the electric bill on time or replace the roll of toilet paper. Both of them could stand to be more ambitious.

But once they'd owned up to what had been simmering between them for years, once the truth was out, there was no going back. They'd loved each other, supported each other, and sometimes wanted to kill each other, honestly.

He couldn't wait to marry her. Actually, maybe getting two tickets to Vegas wouldn't be such a bad…

"I'm so sorry," he heard behind him and turned around. A middle aged woman, heavyset with brown curly hair and glasses, her purple blouse and floral skirt covered by an apron, bustled in from the kitchen. "My partner is usually in today and I fell behind."

He smiled. There was something about this woman that was throwing him a little and he couldn't place it. "That's all right," he said. "I have an appointment for a wedding cake tasting."

"Name?"

"Halpert."

She stared at him a moment. Jim shifted. "Halpert? Oh my goodness, you're Jimmy Halpert, aren't you?"

The pieces were starting to click. "Miss Lapin?"

"Oh, it's Mrs. Vance now, honey," she gushed, flashing a large diamond ring as she came around the counter. "My husband's in refrigerators. Bob Vance, Vance Refrigeration?" She threw her arms around Jim and squeezed, almost knocking the wind out of him. "But you call me Phyllis now. My god, little Jimmy Halpert." She reached up and actually pinched his cheeks. "All grown up. And you're getting married!"

Okay, the fact that he was standing in a bakery with his kindergarten teacher pinching his cheeks was just really surreal.

"Uh, yeah," he said. "Wow, Miss Lapin. Sorry, Mrs. Vance…"

"Phyllis, sweetheart."

"Phyllis," he said. "Wow, that's weird. Wow, so you're not a teacher anymore."

"Nice Jim," he thought, "very observant."

Before she could answer, the door opened and Pam came hurrying through. "Sorry I'm late," she called, coming over to him. She saw Jim looking dazed and a plump woman clutching his arm. There was something about her that seemed familiar…

"What's going on?"

Jim reached his free arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He grinned amusedly at Pam.

"Pam, you remember Miss Lapin, from kindergarten?"

Both women clapped their hands to their mouths. Miss Lapin… Mrs. Vance… Phyllis… misted up a little.

"Oh!" She let her hand flutter to her throat. "Pammy Beesly!"

Pam laughed. "Yes, it's me." She reached out to hug the older woman. "Hi, Miss Lapin. I can't believe this."

After giving the Mrs. Vance, call me Phyllis speech, she gripped both their hands and looked at them.

"Holy smokes," she said, shaking her head. "Jimmy Halpert. You were a mischievous little thing," she remembered.

"Still is," Pam smirked.

"And you're marrying Pammy." Phyllis pressed a hand to her mouth, choking up. "I remember how sweet the two of you were together. That time you fell off the swings…"

"I think I still have a scar on my knee from that," Pam laughed.

"As soon as someone called 'Miss Lapin, Pammy fell,' Jimmy went tearing across the parking lot like there was a rocket in his little pants. He wouldn't leave your side." She winked at Pam. "Looks like he still won't."

Pam wrapped her arms around Jim's waist and gave him a squeeze.

"Yeah, he's annoying like that," she said, looking adoringly at her fiance. "But I haven't fallen off a swing in a while."

Jim scoffed. "Please," he reminded her. "You jumped off a swing in Central Park last year. Remember? Twisted ankle? You whined for a week and made me give you piggy back rides everywhere?"

Pam rolled her eyes. "I remember someone whining about his back for a week."

He gave her a Look, telling her with his eyes that if their old kindergarten teacher weren't staring at them, he'd kiss that smirk right off Pam's face.

"So tell me," Phyllis said, placing a slice of lemon cake in front of them, "how did you two finally come to your senses?" She chuckled, seeing the curious looks they gave her. "Please. You were in love with each other when you were five. How long did it take you to actually admit it?"

They both blushed. Pam pressed her face to Jim's shoulder.

"Um, about 18 more years?" he said sheepishly.

Phyllis looked aghast. "You kids…" she said, shaking her head. "Why, when Bob Vance and I met…"

An hour later, Jim and Pam all but staggered into the parking lot.

"Are my ears bleeding?" he asked, stooping down so he was eye level to her. "Here, check."

Pam groaned. "Will you hold back my hair?" she said, gesturing. "I think I'm gonna puke."

They'd learned two lessons that day.

One, vanilla bean cake with hazelnut butter cream was freakin' delicious.

And two, under no circumstances should any people ever have to hear about the sexual escapades of the woman who taught them to read "See Spot Run" and the refrigerator king of Scranton, Pennsylvania.

Ew.


	26. Chapter 26

December 2010

Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, New York

She was half-certain she was on a beach somewhere, watching naked little children run as only naked little children can.

Maybe it was Europe. Or Hawaii.

Only half of her was there.

The other half of her was in bed, being kissed sleepily by her husband. She felt the wetness of his tongue against hers and the brush of his REM cycle erection on her leg, and the beach grew fainter.

This happened sometimes. They'd wake up in the midst of passion and not know how it started. Sometimes on rare, very rare occasion, they'd make barely conscious love to each other, and wake up happier the next morning but not really know why.

Pam wrapped her arms around Jim, keeping her eyes closed. She stretched, arching against him, feeling his chest hair scratchy against her nipples.

"Mmmmmm Jim."

Taking half-asleep advantage of their mutual state of nudity, he let his hands drift to her rear, massaging. "So sexy," he mumbled against her jaw and pulled her against him.

His warm, hard penis pressed into the crease of her thigh and she grew more conscious, wanting. Pam raised her leg over Jim's hip, opening herself to him.

"I love you."

He started to slide into her, their eyes fluttering open. He moved deeper as they blinked at each other through hooded lids. She reached down between them and used her fingertips to massage his testicles in the way she knew he liked.

"Ohhh, good girl…"

Pam smirked sleepily. Jim only said "good girl" to her when his brain had traveled completely to his crotch.

He sought out her lips and kissed her with his eyelashes against her cheeks. She let herself sink into the pillows and they kissed slowly, him still hard inside of her, barely moving.

"Oh god," she whispered against his lips. "I want…"

"Anything," he kissed the word down her throat. "Anything."

"Jim…"

A sudden high-pitched wail broke their reverie. With a groan, Jim withdrew and rolled off Pam. She growled in frustration feeling him leave her.

"Damn it," Jim groused, now awake. He grabbed Pam's face in his hands, kissing her soundly. Pulling back, they grinned ruefully at each other. She reached to the foot of the bed, grabbing his boxers and t-shirt and handing them to him.

"Your turn."

Jim rolled his eyes and gestured to his waning, but still present, erection. "Take one for the team, Pam," he begged over the continuing racket. "I'm sure we'll end up traumatizing her somehow, but not like this."

She sighed dramatically, pulling on her underwear and an oversized button down of his.

"Seventeen hours of labor, Jim," she reminded him, dragging herself out of bed.

He grinned. She was so sexy, all tousled like - no, no that wasn't helping. Baby spit up, diaper genies, electric bills, dry cleaning… okay, that was better.

"I'll make it up to you," he told her.

She smirked, as if to tell him that yes, yes, he would.

"Be there in a minute."

Pam slipped down the short hallway into the tiny room with the duck wallpaper and approached the white crib, and the little red-faced noisemaker inside.

"Don't you think for a minute, Sadie Margaret," she scolded with a smile, "that I won't remember this when you go on your first date."

She lifted screaming Sadie from the crib.

"What's the matter, girly girl? You need changing?" She checked Sadie's diaper. Yep.

Pam was in the middle of powdering the baby, whose sobs had subsided a bit but not quieted, when Jim came in.

"We're going to have to move again if she keeps screaming like this," he remarked fondly, coming to stand beside Pam. He rubbed Sadie's belly as Pam strapped her into the new diaper and tugged her lavender flannel pajama suit back into place, snapping it up.

Jim picked up the six-month-old and pressed her into his chest, breathing low and deep, hoping to lull her into calm.

"Look," he said, carrying her to the window, "it's snowing."

Soft, fat flakes were falling into the yard of the tiny apartment house they lived in. They'd moved to Bay Ridge three months earlier. The two bedroom apartment was one of five units on a quiet street. It wasn't forever, they knew, but for now, it was home.

Sadie's sobs were quieting into whimpers. Pam leaned into his side.

"Snow," she smiled. She tilted her head up to Jim and he ducked to kiss her lips.

"Come on," he said. He settled himself in the rocking armchair, his feet stretched out on the ottoman and arranged Sadie on his chest, holding her with his left arm. With his right he reached out to his wife.

"I think there's room for one more."

He didn't have to ask her twice. Pam curled up in Jim's lap, nestling her head in the space between his neck and shoulder. He could feel her breath against his skin.

"You're such a good daddy," she sighed, sleep starting to overtake her again. "You always make her so calm. She knows how much you love her. Promise me she'll always know that, okay?"

He rubbed his lips over her hair. "Promise." And he did. She sighed contentedly and closed her eyes.

And while Pam drifted off, the baby, despite Jim's efforts to lull her back to sleep, seemed to grow more alert. The whimpers had become gurgles as Sadie pushed herself up a little, half crawling up Jim's chest.

She had his hair, he was pretty sure, sticking up in all directions, and his smile, Pam's eyes and, thank God, he thought, Pam's nose. And the softest, roundest cheeks, like pink marshmallows.

He looked at the clock. 5:30 a.m. Hopefully he could get her back to sleep and grab another hour or so himself before having to get up for work. He rubbed her back in small circles, hoping to calm her.

"It's almost time for Christmas," Jim whispered to his daughter. "Your momma loves Christmas. She plays music and burns cookies, and her eyes just light up." He pressed his cheek to Pam's hair, loving the feeling of her there. "We'll go to Rockefeller Center and see the skaters, and we'll visit Grandma Joan and Grandpa Ed and Nana Larissa and Papa Bill in Scranton. And when it gets warmer, we'll go to the park and I'll take you on the carousel. What do you think about that, Sadie-daisy?"

Sadie babbled happily. He took her reaction to mean yes.

"All right," he said softly, lifting Sadie up to place a kiss on her belly as Pam snuggled deeper into his side. "Then it's a date."


End file.
